


What Happens Under The Stars

by piercethenightvale



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kinda, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 91,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piercethenightvale/pseuds/piercethenightvale
Summary: It had been two weeks since Feyre had left Tamlin, and she was just starting to find herself again. That is, until one drunken night changes everything and Feyre realizes there is more the healing than just running away.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been more than two weeks since Feyre had left Tamlin, and this was the first time she had left the house willingly. Well, technically Nesta forced her to go out, but Feyre hadn’t put up much of a fight. And Feyre had to admit, she had missed this. Just being carefree and having fun. She had been with Tamlin for almost four years, and little by little he had chipped away at her social life until nothing was left. Only in retrospect did Feyre see it as a calculated move to ensure there was no one for her when things with Tamlin became truly bad.  


But Feyre didn’t want to think about that right now. She was drunk and happy and dancing with her sisters; her sisters who also decidedly didn’t do things like this. But desperate times and all that led them all here in a last ditch effort to get Feyre to do something, anything other than laying in her bed staring at the ceiling.  


So here the Archeron sisters were, in some seedy club Nesta knew (Prythian? Feyre thought she had called it) properly wasted and having the times of their lives. That is until they started drawing people’s attention. Feyre knew they were attractive, all of them, but she was also sure she was the least attractive of the three. Elain was classically beautiful, with blond beach waves that looked effortless and delicate features no one could resist admiring. Nesta was gorgeous in an almost frightening way, all sharp angles and piercing gazes. Feyre knew they look at Nesta like she might eat them and they would gladly let her.  


Comparatively, Feyre was just sort of… there. She wasn’t ugly, but next to her sisters she was nothing remarkable. So imagine her surprise when she felt a tall, hot body pressing against her backside and soon gripping her hips. Feyre’s first instinct was to push him away, if Tamlin found out he would have a fit. It took Feyre longer than she cared to admit to remember she wasn’t with Tamlin anymore. That’s how deeply he had broken her, she was terrified even though he wasn’t here and she owed him nothing. Maybe she wasn’t actually getting better.  


But this guy was as good a distraction for sadness as any, Feyre decided and swung her hips back into him. She heard a breathy chuckle in response, “Eager, aren’t we?” his voice came in her ear.  


“Shut up,” Feyre replied, but there was no fight in it as the man began nuzzling his face into her neck, leaving languid kisses there. Oh. Feyre had forgotten she could have feelings like this. When sleeping with Tamlin, her own passion didn’t matter much. If he wanted to have sex, they did. If he was too tired, they didn’t. For the millionth time, Feyre got whiplash by how shitty her relationship had been. Hindsight is 20/20.  


And it was hard to think about her broken heart when this guy was playing with the hemline of her skirt and grabbing her ass. Feyre caught Nesta’s gaze a few feet away. She gave Feyre a cocked eyebrow and looked almost proud at Feyre’s nonchalant shrug. This was also when she noticed Elain was dancing with a man of her own, though far less scandalously than Feyre was. If Nesta was anyone other than Nesta, she might be jealous of being the only one alone right now. Luckily she was Nesta, and she was watching her sisters with genuine amusement as they did things that weren’t like them. And this definitely wasn’t like Feyre, but maybe that was a good thing. Feyre hadn’t really known herself in a very long time, maybe this was exactly the kind of thing she could do. Before Feyre could second guess herself anymore, she turned around connected her and the stranger’s lips. She was sure it wasn’t graceful, she was too drunk for that to be a possibility, but he eagerly kissed her back his hands running up from her ass and tangling in her hair.  


Feyre gasped as his tongue invaded her mouth, oh this boy was trouble but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when she caught how his breath hitched when she tugged the curls at the nape of his neck. It was a delicious sound.  


All too soon they broke apart and Feyre got a decent look at him, as decent as it could be with the low lighting of the club. He was quite possibly the most attractive man she had ever seen, all lean muscle and broad shoulders. He had curly black hair that fell to his shoulders, just inviting her to pull it again. Feyre would be embarrassed by her ogling if he wasn’t doing it right back. Feyre still had the good sense to be self-conscious and pulled her entirely too low top up.  


“Cassian,” he said suddenly startling Feyre. She was a little proud to hear he was out of breath, “My name is Cassian.”  


Cassian. Even his name was ruggedly sexy. She realized too late that she was meant to supply her own name, “Feyre,” she replied.  


“Feyre,” he repeated, “Will I have the honor of taking you home tonight, Feyre?”  


Feyre suddenly couldn’t speak. She wasn’t used to people being so… straightforward with her. She was used to Tamlin’s mind games and manipulations. She was used to walking a tightrope line of what would piss him off on any given day. She was used to guessing where she stood with him, even after they got engaged. She was not used to a man letting her know exactly what he wanted from her. It was incredibly sexy, she decided.  


She didn’t so much say yes, but rather shoved her tongue back into his mouth and she felt Cassian choke on a laugh. Yes, she decided, maybe she was ready for single life again. That is, until she felt a rough hand pulling her back.


	2. Chapter 2

So this was the kind of night it was going to be, Rhys thought as he moped at their table. It was rightfully his turn to be the designated driver, but he was still pissed off at just how easily his companions had found other people to…mingle with.  


It’s not that Rhys was bitter at his friends hooking up, it was just that this was how it always went. Mor would always leave early with her girlfriend and Amren would follow soon after with whoever caught her interest for the night. At least Amren had some standards of intrigue for her conquests. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than an heiress or a high ranking government official. One time she bedded literal royalty, Rhys still wasn’t sure how. It at least made for interesting conversation the next day if a little too much information for Rhys’ taste. Cassian would grind on anything with a pulse and drag out the seduction for hours until he got bored and took them home. Az was always a wild card, most of the time he’d stay with the long suffering Rhys, but tonight someone had caught his eye. Leaving Rhys alone at the table, unable to leave in case any of them needed him and unwilling to fully join in the fun.  


Of course it was Rhysand’s own fault he wasn’t having a better (if albeit sober) time. He just couldn’t bring himself to care about the chase when SHE was occupying his mind. It was ridiculous, Rhys knew, to be infatuated with a girl when he didn’t even know her name. It was even more ridiculous to not know it after more 6 months of seeing her. Not like he’d ever actually talked to her past a “hello, how are you today. In Rhysand’s defense, he was fully planning on making a move until he had seen the big fucking engagement ring on her finger.  


He wasn’t a stalker, her really wasn’t. The first time he had seen her was innocent enough. He’d walked into the library to work on mixing for some song or another when the café he normally frequented had been closed and then he saw her shelving books. And then he just… continued coming to the library to work instead of anywhere else. It was an excellent location to get some work done, and if it had the added bonus of being the workplace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen then so be it.  


Rhysand was pretty sure she didn’t know he existed. And she never would, if Mor’s reaction was any indication of how she would take it. Rhysand had only told her of the woman’s existence under duress. She was threatening to cut the sleeves off of all his dress shirts if he didn’t tell her what the hell had gotten into him. So much for the subtlety Rhys thought he was exhibiting. He supposed he should be grateful that only Mor had found out. Normally Cass and Az were just as observant, and Amren had a knack for just knowing things she absolutely shouldn’t. Rhysand supposed he was showing excellent restraint in keeping it secret considering she really was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen (“Second prettiest,” Mor had allowed, “I’m legally obligated to say Viviane is the prettiest considering I’m in love with her.” Rhys hadn’t contested the point). He’d be lying if he said Mor’s approval hadn’t pleased him a little bit. Rhys considered Mor to be the best judge of character, and if risking her actually talking to the girl was what it took to get her opinion then so be it.  


But then she had vanished, and Rhys was worried even though he didn’t know her. She’d never missed work that he noticed (maybe he was a little bit of a stalker). To Rhys’ relief, Mor seemed equally worried, though she wouldn’t tell him exactly why. It had been nearly two weeks since Rhysand had seen her, and he was nearing the point of actually asking the rest of the library staff. Not that they’d tell him, probably.  


So Rhys was moping instead of enjoying himself even though he had fully endorsed Mor’s idea of going to Prythian. He took a swig from his soda and kept an eye on his friends. He tried not to roll his eyes at the girl Cassian was currently making out with. Rhys had nothing against one night stands, but they were practically dry humping in the middle of the dancefloor. He should never expect Cassian to remain classy, especially when he drank. More surprising was that Az was currently dancing with another member of the mystery girl’s group. Maybe Rhys wouldn’t be on the hook to drive Cassian and his conquest back to the townhouse. Az was considerably less forward with this girl than Cassian was, obviously. If Rhys didn’t know any better, he’d thing they were just talking and vaguely swaying.  


Cassian and the mystery girl broke apart and Rhys got a good look at her for the first time all evening.  
Shit.  


Shit. Shit. Shit.  


It was her. He did a double take. It wasn’t just any mystery girl, it was HIS mystery girl. Rhys didn’t know how Cassian could always find the most beautiful girls in the dark and only from the back, but it looks like he had done it again. Even through his rage and disappointment, Rhysand couldn’t help but admire how she looked outside of work. Her golden brown hair was let down instead of in the bun she normally kept it in and it fell almost to her waist. This new knowledge awoke the butterflies that had been hibernating in his stomach. He ached to run his hands through it. And that dress she was wearing, deep blue and scandalously short and tight enough to accentuate her slight curves. But what really got him was the moment she smiled. It was completely uninhibited even though she barely knew Cass. A second later it was gone, as if she wasn’t normally one to smile like that. And the next second she had collided with Cass again. Jealously rolled in Rhys’ gut. He was irrationally angry even though Cass couldn’t have known who this woman was to him. He wondered absentmindedly what happened to her fiancé. Rhys wasn’t close enough to see if the ring was gone, but he instinctively knew she wasn’t a cheater, so they had to have broken up. And recently too, she had been wearing it the last time Rhys had seen her. Maybe it had something to do with where she’d been for the last two weeks.  


Mor fell down next to him in the booth a second later, “Will you look at that slut?” Mor said, pointing at Cassian, “I don’t know how he finds so many girls willing to sleep with him.”  


Rhys suppressed a snort even considering the circumstances. He was about to give his witty retort when Mor said, “Holy shit,” Rhys gave her a warning glare but she continued, “Is that-”  


“I think so,” he said evenly.  


“With Cassian?” she continued.  


“Yes,” he replied with the same tone, though considerably more strained.  


“And you’re just going to sit here?” Mor asked incredulously.  


“What else am I supposed to do?” Rhys asked. A rhetorical question, but it didn’t stop Mor from answering.  


“‘Hey Cassian, props to you for getting some, but I have been completely in love with this girl for a half a year now and I kinda thought she was dead since I haven’t seen her in two weeks but it seems she’s very much alive and looking delicious in that sexy little dress, so kindly fuck off and leave me to my destiny’” she supplied. Rhysand would have laughed if Morrigan didn’t look like she was serious.  


“Or you continue sitting here and brooding while Cassian takes your soulmate home,” Mor continued. Then at Rhys’ silence, “You can’t be serious, Rhysand.”  


“She was engaged, Mor,” Rhys replied uselessly, “And now she apparently isn’t and I’ve missed my window.”  


Rhys didn’t think he’d ever seen someone look more disappointed in him. Mor almost looked like she was going to cry for him, and it made Rhysand furious for some reason, “I know you’re fragile,” she began, “But it has been almost two years since… Amarantha. And I was so happy you seemed to finally be moving on.”  


Rhysand couldn’t bring himself to reply, so Mor continued, “You truly are the saboteur of your own happiness, Rhysand Night.”  


Whatever Rhysand was going to say was caught off by sudden movement in his peripheral vision. In muted horror, Rhys and Mor watched as the mystery girl was violently pulled back. Cassian looked confused, she looked terrified. If Az’s girl looked angry, their third companion looked like she was going to stab him at any moment. Rhys was on his feet in an instant, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to get involved.  


“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Rhys heard the third girl say.  


“Nesta,” Mystery girl warned.  


“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guy asked. It was with a start that Rhys realized he knew that voice. Tamlin. She knew Tamlin. The puzzle pieces started to click together in Rhysand’s mind, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. There were very few reasons that Tamlin would be this pissed off at her, and Rhys feared it had something to do with the absence of her engagement ring and her disappearance.  


“Let go of me, Tam,” the girl said. He had both of her biceps in a rough grip, it looked hard enough to Rhys that it might leave bruises. Fucking Tamlin.  


“So I can watch you whoring around all night?”  


“Tamlin!” another man said, this one standing just behind him with his red hair put up in a bun. Lucien.  


“Let her go,” Cassian said, his voice low and warning. Rhys gave Tamlin props for not cowering, but he could see Tamlin tighten his grip a fraction and the mystery girl’s eyes widen as his nails bit into her skin.  


“This is my fiancé,” was all Tamlin said as he began to lead the girl away. Rhysand’s head was spinning. He couldn’t believe anyone would willingly marry Tamlin. Judging by the looks of this scene, it might not have been so willingly.  


“Tamlin!” mystery girl cried as she was being practically dragged away. Then, when her friends started to follow her, “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”  
Her friends didn’t look happy, but also obeyed. Rhys suspected it was mostly because the girl had asked them to, but he could also see intense fear in their eyes. Cassian either didn’t pick up on their fear, or he didn’t care because he ran the few steps in stand in front of Tamlin, “The lady said to let her go.”  


“Move, Cassian,” Tamlin practically growled. Rhysand was now only a few steps away and trying to decide to get involved or not. He might very well be able to handle this himself, but Cassian also solved most of his problems with his fists. If he decided diplomacy was more trouble than it was worth, then this would turn into an all out brawl.  


“You know each other?” she asked in disbelief.  


“Unfortunately,” Tamlin replied. He gave Feyre’s arm a tug, and Feyre did a remarkable job of not wincing, “Let’s go home, Feyre.” Feyre. That was his mystery girl’s name. Rhys nearly ached to say it out loud, to see how the syllables felt on his tongue. He felt an odd mixture of joy at finally knowing more about her, and anger at the circumstances. He ludicrously felt cheated, like he deserved to have learned this very important information on his own terms. Feyre was about to get him a lot of trouble, he realized.  


“Please, Feyre,” Tamlin repeated, “Let me take you home.” If Rhys didn’t know Tamlin, he might have thought the man was sincere. He did an impressive of job softening his voice and turning his face into the picture or innocent concern. Luckily, Feyre wasn’t fooled by his demeanor. Whatever their relationship had been like, Rhys was sure in that moment that Tamlin deserved whatever Cassian did to him when this turned ugly.  


“No,” Feyre said.  


“No?” Tamlin replied incredulously.  


“We are broken up, Tamlin,” Feyre said evenly. Rhysand felt an odd swell of pride at her certainty. He knew better than anyone that Tamlin was a difficult person to stand up to, and here she was. If Rhys hadn’t been completely mesmerized by her eyes, he might not have realized how afraid she truly was, “Which means I can kiss whoever I want, whenever I want.”  


“Like hell you can,” Tamlin nearly yelled. Rhys thought he looked about ready to pick Feyre up and carry her out.  


Four things happened at the same time: Tamlin shoved Cassian out of the way, Tamlin violently threw Feyre forward causing her to trip, Feyre cried out as she hit the ground, and Mor dashed forward blocking Tamlin from touching her again. Rhysand hadn’t even noticed Mor had been standing next to him until she ran away. Rhysand followed and saw that Az was practically holding Feyre’s friends back. This was definitely going to end badly. Rhys decided he didn’t really care.  


“Mor?” Feyre choked out from the ground. Rhys didn’t even have time to give his cousin a look of betrayal before Tamlin’s attention moved from Mor to him.  


“So you’re all in on this?” Tamlin sneered.  


Rhysand looked around nervously. They were attracting attention now, and neither Rhysand nor could the rest of his circle really afford bad press right now. Not with everything else that had happened, “Let’s take this outside.” Rhys said in no uncertain tone. He bent down and offered Feyre a hand. Tamlin looked ready to pounce, but Mor’s murderous gaze locked him in place. Feyre took his hand gingerly and stood back up. Rhys tried to convince himself that he was imagining the electricity traveling through them at the simply contact. He was well and truly fucked. Feyre didn’t wait for Tamlin’s answer before she led Rhysand outside, not letting go of his hand as she left. Rhysand didn’t bother looking to see if anyone was following them. He heard Cass whisper a “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” and Mor shush him.  


The night air was cold and a welcome contrast to both the heat of the club and what Rhys was feeling from his and Feyre’s connected hands. In the light of the street, Rhysand saw small details of her that had long eluded him. Like she had a scattering of freckles across her nose and she had four holes in each ear. She normally wore a leather band on each wrist, but tonight she has traded them for thick bangles covered in blue rhinestones the same color of her dress. He wondered what the story behind the constant jewelry was. She had a tattoo creeping up and around her shoulder that her work clothes nearly hid. Rhys practically ached to see how far down her back it crawled. All this information gathered in the precious moments they stood waiting for the rest of their party. Rhys risked locking eyes with her and simultaneously wished he hadn’t and got lost in them. They were actually a stormy grey-blue instead of the light blue he had thought they were. Feyre eyed him with curiosity, clearly trying to place where she knew him from. But there was something else there. Was Rhys imagining it, or was she studying him with the same attraction he was studying her? As soon as Rhys tried to speak, the moment was broken. Feyre seemed to realize that she was holding hands with a complete stranger and she quickly pulled away from him. Rhysand immediately missed the contact. All too soon the rest of their mismatched group was present outside. Rhysand made a subtle move between Tamlin and Feyre, and he knew everyone else had noticed it.  


“Tamlin…” Feyre said slowly, her speech slurring significantly less than it had in the club, “Can we have this talk privately please?”  


Tamlin still looked ready to maim someone, but there was a softness in his eyes that made Rhysand’s stomach churn. He had looked at everyone in Rhysand’s circle that way once and look where they were now. Rhysand wanted to stop it, to shake some sense into Feyre. But he caught Feyre’s friends eye and it made him freeze. This wasn’t Rhys’ fight and Feyre wouldn’t appreciate being told she couldn’t take care of herself.  


All Rhysand could do was watch as Tamlin gave Feyre a small nod and the two of them walk around the corner to hash out whatever they had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I was honestly ready to post this right after chapter one, but I know chapter three needed so much work and I needed to buy myself time. I also struggled a lot with whether or not I wanted Feyre and Rhys to actually know each other, and I finally settled on this. Thanks so much for reading and comments and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in this chapter for domestic violence, suicide and referenced self harm.

Feyre had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and here it finally was. Of course, Feyre knew she’d have to see Tamlin again. She’d lived with him, for god’s sake. She’d at least need to get her stuff, and she’d have to negotiate who got what of what they’d shared. Plus they had so many mutual friends that Feyre wasn’t ready to give up, Lucien, Ianthe and Alis just to name a few.

But just because she knew didn’t mean she was at all prepared to face him down so soon after their break up. Well, clearly he didn’t think they were broken up, if his behavior was any indication. And why would he, Feyre mused, “I’m leaving you” is so ambiguous. Tamlin wouldn’t understand the word no if it hit him in the face. She was especially unprepared to see him while drunk and making out with a stranger. Cassian, she reminded herself, didn’t seem to be a stranger to Tamlin. She’d have to splice that later. So much had happened so fast that Feyre didn’t have enough time to process anything other than Tamlin was here and he was mad, almost as mad as he’d been the night she’d left him. It threw Feyre off enough that all she could was muster out a few “Nos” before she found herself on the floor of Prythian, her ankle twisted painfully beneath her. Her hands moved of their own will to cup her cheek, where the bruise of their last encounter was still healing. It took everything Feyre had not to fall apart right there. But she could see her sisters looking at her with mute horror and murder in their eyes. And then Mor was there and Feyre had no idea where she had come from. And then there was Mor’s cousin putting himself between Feyre and Tamlin’s fury. Feyre didn’t know Rhysand personally, but Mor had spoken about him enough that it almost felt like she did. For all Cassians’s posturing in the club, he had turned mute since Tamlin pushed her. Not that Feyre really expected him to defend her, but his sudden silence left her a little raw. She would not appear weak in front of these people, she would not let Tamlin see her break down again. She was strong and she would make it clear that they were over. 

Feyre accepted Rhys’ extended hand and carefully made her way to her feet. The pleasant buzz she’d had moments ago was long gone, the severity of the moment seeming to sober everyone up. Feyre practically dragged Rhysand outside behind her. Her sanity was barely hanging on by a thread, and his hand grounded her to reality. _You are not alone in this_ , it seemed to say. Or maybe it was just a hand and Feyre was losing her mind. In any case, it gave Feyre the strength to look Tamlin in the eye and ask him to speak privately away from anyone who could protect her from his rage. Nesta looked ready to argue, as did Mor and Rhysand, but a look from Elain kept them silenced. Feyre gave her a grateful look, this was something she needed to do on her own and Elain seemed to realize that. She turned around and walked down the street with Tamlin. Due to her twisted ankle and strappy heals, it was slow traveling, but eventually they were out of eye and earshot of her companions. Tamlin had the decency to not talk until Feyre sat on a bench. His expression was impossible to read. How often had Feyre had to guess what he was thinking? How many times had she feared the day his emotions snapped? Feyre shuddered at the thought. 

“I’m not coming back, Tamlin,” Feyre said as evenly as she could. She was staring off into the distance, refusing to make eye contact with him. She was so sure of her decisions until she actually had to face him. She couldn’t risk changing her mind. Feyre knew deep down that eventually Tamlin was going to kill her if she stayed. That became clear long before Feyre admitted it to herself and long before he had ever laid a hand on her. If not he himself, the way she was forced to live her life because of him would. She only had the friends he approved of, the jobs he wanted her to have. She rarely saw her sisters even though they were once the most important people in the world to her and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had painted even though it was supposed to be her life. She viewed her engagement ring as a pretty little prison, but she couldn’t have said no. Tamlin was all she’d had by the time he prosed. Her strongest rebellion had been continually pushing back the wedding date. 

“Feyre…” Tamlin said in a strained tone. She was hurting him. Good, she thought, even as the betrayal turned a knife in her own heart. She fiddled with her bangles, missing the leather that normally covered her scars. There was a time before all this, Feyre thought. A time when she was happy and she and Tamlin were truly in love. Then the accident and everything that happened after changed everything and Feyre was apparently still picking the pieces of her life up two years later. A month ago, she never would have thought Tamlin wouldn’t be part of that life. Feyre had never thought Tamlin would ever really hurt her. Feyre had been wrong about a great many things. 

Now wasn’t the time for reminiscing. She could fall apart when she was safely back with her sisters. Now she needed to be strong, “No, Tamlin,” Feyre said, “I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit from you, but I can’t forgive this.” 

“ _You've_ put up with _my_ bullshit?” Tamlin asked incredulously, “I think you’re forgetting some pretty important moments in our relationship.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Feyre replied. 

Tamlin backpedaled, “We’ve been together almost five years, Feyre,” he began, “We’ve had rough patches before.” 

Feyre let out a humorless laugh, “You _hit_ me, Tamlin,” she couldn’t quite hide the way her voice cracked. She’d never actually put what happened that night into words. She’d only really seen her sisters since it happened. Nesta had seen the angry red welt on her cheek and put the pieces together and was too angry to speak. Elain mercifully hadn’t asked any questions, perhaps sensing that Feyre wouldn’t answer them. Vocalizing it like this made it real, and Feyre wasn’t sure she was ready for it. 

Tamlin flinched at the ugliness of her voice, “I’m sorry, Feyre,” he said. Feyre could tell her was closed to tears, “I am so sorry.” And it didn’t matter. Tamlin had gotten angry with her before. Furious. He’d yelled and screamed, slammed doors, broken things. But Feyre never thought he’d ever hurt her. The bruise was two weeks old, but Feyre could suddenly feel it like it had happened a minute ago. 

“I thought we were getting better,” Feyre said, “I thought _I_ was getting better. And now I’m right back where I started. Because of you.” 

“It was an accident,” Tamlin said, “And it will never happen again.” 

“No, it won’t” Feyre said as she stood, “Because I’m not coming back.” 

Tamlin stood with her. He had almost a foot on her even in her heels. How many times had Feyre cowered? Not anymore, “You’re going to throw everything away because of one mistake?” 

But it wasn’t one mistake. It was five years’ worth of them, and not all of them Tamlin’s. Feyre had let so many things slide because she’d felt she was indebted to Tamlin. She’d left home when she was 17 and wanted never to look back. She’d met Tamlin when she was 18 and moved in with him less than 6 months later. 6 months after that Elain had called in tears saying their father had ran off and left her and Nesta a string of debts. Feyre was barely getting by, but her conscience wouldn’t let her ignore her sisters. She and Tamlin were going through a really good patch, the business was doing well and they were talking about getting married. Tamlin offered to help her pay off her father’s debts. Feyre had accepted and it had been the biggest mistake of her life. She’d never tell Elain and Nesta what getting the money truly cost her. Tamlin controlled her in ways Feyre vowed she’d never be controlled again. But she thought it was worth it. She loved Tamlin and if she had to compromise more than she wanted, that was the price she’d pay to keep her sisters safe. But then the business started to suffer. It happens, Tamlin said, markets shift and we’ll recover. Feyre didn’t know enough about the business to think instinctively. She was only on the periphery of it even after five years. She knew he owned a record label and had signed some big names once upon a time. But competition sprung up and Spring Court Records just couldn’t keep up. But they did recover, but not before Tamlin had to take out a loan to keep the business afloat. Then the accident happened and Feyre knew things would never be okay again. She was done letting Tamlin guilt trip his way out of trouble. 

“You hit me.” 

“You tried to kill yourself,” Tamlin replied. Feyre stepped back as if he’d struck her. God, it would have been better if he’d struck her. Tamlin had the nerve to look smug as his words had their intended effect, “And I was the one who had to find you.” 

Feyre was unable to hold his gaze. Tamlin was gaining ground and he knew it, “I had to find you in our home- in our bed bleeding out. And I’ve spent the last year thinking you’d do it again.” 

“So this was revenge?” Feyre yelled. Her voice had taken of a shrill quality that made Feyre’s nerves grate, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

“No!” Tamlin replied even louder than Feyre, “But I have been so scared of losing you. And I almost lost the business. And I was still trying to take care of your father’s debt… something had to give, Feyre.” 

“It shouldn’t have been me!” she said. She was crying now and she couldn’t stop it. The last five years of her life flashed before her eyes. Five years since she’d been single. Two years since the accident. Two years since that woman had come into her life, Feyre shuddered to even think her name. One year since her suicide attempt. Two weeks without Tamlin. She wept for the wasted years, for the Feyre she’d been before. For the future she thought she’d have. She was someone she didn’t recognize anymore. She would never be truly okay again, but she could be better than this. And she deserved better than Tamlin. 

She took a deep breath and pushed the sobs down. Tears were still streaming down her face, but her voice was calm, “I know the stress you’ve been under. And I’m sorry that I was part of it. But we have been broken for a very long time, Tamlin.” 

He didn’t say anything so Feyre continued, “I can’t get better with someone who doesn’t let me fall apart sometimes.” 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, Feyre,” he insisted. The worst part was Feyre could tell he actually believed that. He hadn’t let her go back to her old job at the gallery; he’d been too afraid it would remind her of that night. And after _that woman_ came into the picture, Tamlin was terrified she’d find Feyre there. _You don’t need a job, Feyre,_ he had said, _I can easily support us both._ That was bullshit and they both knew it, but the money wasn’t the real problem, it was that Feyre wasn’t living her own life anymore. So she’d gotten the part time job at the library and hid it from Tamlin. He’d just go on and on about the risk and the danger she was in, even though it was coming up on a year without any real threats. Danger be damned, Feyre needed something. That’s what their fight had been about, her secret job. He’d been drunk when Feyre had gotten home, too drunk to reason with. 

_Feyre walked into their apartment after a long but satisfying shift. Her feet ached but her heart felt lighter than it had in months. She was finally doing something after a year of therapy and countless days spent doing nothing (or “healing” as Tamlin called it, the inactivity had made Feyre want to rip her hair out). She’d gotten her first promotion after almost six months at the library and a sizeable bonus. She knew what she wanted to spend it on. If she was smart she’d save it in her secret bank account that Tamlin didn’t know about. It was just for emergencies, she’d told herself to justify it. Tamlin’s business had been in trouble before and Feyre liked the security of having some money put away no matter what he said about markets._

__

_But she was giddy on having money of her own and no chaperone. She went to the little boutique she had gotten all of her best dresses. Dresses that didn’t fit her anymore. Feyre had been steadily losing weight since the accident, just not having the energy to take care of herself. She’d been truly beautiful once, all soft curves and sizeable cleavage and the wardrobe to accentuate that. Then she’d dropped to a size two and stayed there and none of her good clothes fit her and she hadn’t cared enough about her appearance to replace them. It wasn’t her slimness that was the problem, it was her pale skin and her sunken eyes. It was how she hadn’t been able to keep any substantial amount of food down in over a year. It was how she swayed on her feet when she had to stand for more than five minutes. She looked like she was dying. She was dying, just not from an illness. She was killing herself, just more slowly than the last time she tried. And Tamlin didn’t notice the real reason behind it. All he saw were the scars on her wrist and thought keeping her close was the only way to ensure she wouldn’t try it again. She was a prisoner and no amount of arguing with Tamlin had changed that. No amount of reasoning with Lucien. She was alone._

__

__

_But in this moment, looking at herself in the mirror wearing a little blue dress hugged her hips just so and showed off enough leg to make her blush, she didn’t care how much her life sucked. She was going to have to find some way to explain the dress to Tamlin. Maybe she’d say Nesta had given it to her? Her birthday was in a month, an early present perhaps? Tamlin hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and why would he? Feyre hadn’t celebrated anything in two years, least of all something that was literally all about her. Maybe Tamlin would be too preoccupied with how the dress looked on her to care. She smiled to herself. Feyre never initiated sex. Not that she didn’t enjoy it, it was one of the things Tamlin and she always got right. But ever since the accident it had left her unsatisfied and empty. But maybe tonight… they’d have a few drinks, Feyre would put on the dress. She couldn’t help feeling optimistic._

__

__

_All that had changed when she walked through the door. Tamlin was sitting with his back to her, but she could see the bottles littered on their coffee table and the nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels. For all his faults, Tamlin wasn’t much of a drinker. Which meant something bad had happened and he had a shit tolerance for hard liquor. All of Feyre’s plans for the evening went out the window and Feyre started forming a plan for stashing the dress until he was in a better mood._

__

__

_Feyre thought for a moment he was asleep. Passing out in a drunken stupor at 8 PM was its own problem, but it mercifully would let Feyre into their bedroom without having to answer any questions. But then his voice floated across the room, “The library called,” Tamlin said. Feyre felt in her purse, and sure enough her phone wasn’t there. She must have left it at home and been too excited about the check to notice, “You left your sweater there. Vassa offered to drop it off.”_

__

__

___Shit. Shit. _Two sloppy mistakes in one night, three if she counted the dress (and she did), and Feyre was going to pay for it. Feyre steeled herself against the onslaught of fury Tamlin was sure to unleash at any moment, “Tamlin, let me explain.”_ _

__

__

_He stood then. He was swaying a little, but his eyes were frighteningly clear. Feyre realized that he was entirely in control of himself. There would be no excuses for whatever was about to happen._

__

__

_“Quit” was all her said. One word, no room for argument. But Feyre was finally starting to find herself again, she wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from her._

__

__

_“No,” she replied._

__

__

_“Don’t push me, Feyre,” Tamlin growled._

__

__

_"I’m not going to quit,” she repeated, “I love my job.”_

__

__

_“Why didn’t you ask?” Tamlin questioned, “I would have said yes,”_

__

__

_He wouldn’t have. Feyre knew he wouldn’t have. He didn’t even let her cook dinner most nights. But that wasn’t the point, “Christ, Tamlin, do you hear yourself?”_

__

__

_He had the nerve to look confused. Feyre let out a nearly hysterical laugh. He really didn’t see the problem here. Maybe she shouldn’t have lied, but he was the one that forced her to. In a frightening moment of clarity, Feyre realized everything that was wrong here. She had accepted the way Tamlin treated her. At first she was too grateful to fight back, and now she was too broken to. She hadn’t care that he controlled her life. She hadn’t care that she’d quit a job she loved because he’d told her to. She hadn’t care that she hadn’t seen her sisters in months because she was still healing._

__

__

_“You don’t control me, Tamlin,” Feyre said, “I’m not quitting.”_

__

__

_Tamlin practically lunged at her. Feyre was so startled she fell back against the wall. He was on her in an instant pinning her. Not hard enough to hurt, but to serve as a warning. Don’t push me, it said. But Feyre was done hiding._

__

__

_“You have no concept of the kind of danger you’re in. what if she shows up?” Tamlin said. The soft words were undercut by the fury in his eyes, and for the first time, Feyre wasn’t so sure that woman was the one she should be afraid of._

__

__

_“Let me go,” she spit, “While there’s still a chance I’ll forgive you.”_

__

__

_The certainty of her words shocked Tamlin enough to loosen his grip. She shoved him back then went on the offensive, “I will not quit my job. And I will not stay in this apartment just waiting for you to come home. I will not let you suffocate me. I will not die because you’re too much of a coward to let me live.”_

__

__

_The hit came suddenly. It was quick Feyre wondered if maybe she’d imagined it. But no, the searing pain in her cheek proved her wrong. He had hit her._ Hit her _. Tamlin. The love of her life. The man who had saved her. Hit her. She was too shocked to say anything. Tamlin took several steps back as if he was the one who had been struck. They eyed each other for several long moments._

__

__

_“Feyre…” he said finally._

__

__

_“No.” she wouldn’t let him see her cry. She turned away and let loose a small sob. It was over. They were over. She removed the ostentatious ring from her finger. She set it on the counter without turning around. If she met his eyes now she’d lose her nerve. She needed time away. She wasn’t sure if she was leaving for good, but she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him right now. She grabbed her purse and her dress and left the apartment, Tamlin either too shocked or too guilty to follow her._

__

__

_She made the long walk to Nesta’s house and fell into numbness. She couldn’t mope right now. She had to think. She had to plan. She had her earnings from the library. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get started. The library would give her full time hours if she asked. Feyre was sure Nesta would let her stay. But she didn’t have anything, not even her phone. Just the contents of her purse and that stupid dress. She pushed down bile at the memory of how she’d thought this night would play out. Feyre wanted to throw the dress in the bushes and never look at it again. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just an hour ago the dress had meant everything to her. Healing. Normalcy. Freedom._

__

__

_Someday it would again, Feyre promised herself._

__

__

_Too soon Feyre was at Nesta’s door. She rang the bell before she lost her nerve. The story died on her tongue as Nesta looked her over. Her eyes lingered on the bruise forming on Feyre’s cheek and the tracts of mascara down her face._

__

_“I’m going to kill him,” Nesta vowed as she let Feyre inside._

Feyre wasn’t sure where the courage to leave had come from, but it had vanished in the weeks since. It was like the days after the accident and the suicide attempt. She couldn’t hold any food down, waking up each morning to heave whatever Elain and Nesta had forced her to eat into the toilet. She hadn’t gone into work and didn’t offer them any explanation of why. She’d had plans with Mor that she couldn’t cancel without her phone but she couldn’t bring herself to go. She was as trapped as she’d been with Tamlin, but this time the prison was her own mind. 

Nesta, ever the empathizer, had given her a two week grace period before waking Feyre up at 5 PM and saying, “We’re going out tonight. Please, for the love of god, take a shower.” 

She didn’t give Feyre any room to argue. Feyre put on the dress and was reminded of the moment of true happiness before everything had fallen apart. She could do this. 

She had to. Nesta wouldn’t let her get out of this. 

So here she was. Five drinks and one stranger’s tongue in her mouth later with the man who was once her entire world. Her life really did suck. 

“And I thought I was going to spent the rest of my life with you. I guess we were both wrong,” Feyre responded. Cruel words, but sincere. They did the trick. 

Tamlin stood up and faced her. He used his height to her advantage, “You are broken, Feyre,” he said. A truth, “I have put too much time into fixing you to let you leave me like this.” 

She was too stunned to speak, “You will come back,” he said. She hadn’t noticed he’d been holding the engagement ring until he set it on the bench next to her. 

Feyre left it there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was incredibly difficult to write, but I ended up being really proud of it and super excited in where we go from here. Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Everyone was talking at the same time. It was giving Rhys a headache even though he was demanding answers as much as anyone, answers particularly from Mor. In fact, he was at that very moment ignoring Cassian’s continued demands of “what the fuck is happening?” to push Morrigan farther than he probably should.  


“How long?” he asked, his gaze steely and demanding. To her credit, Mor didn’t back down.  


“Don’t give me that look, Rhysand,” she said, “I am allowed to have my own friends.”  


“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Rhys laughed though there was no humor in it, “This isn’t about you having friends I don’t know. This is about you being friends with her and not telling me.”  


Mor had the decency to look embarrassed, though Rhys found no pleasure in the small victory. He felt hollowed out and betrayed. Not only had Feyre (he still marveled at the beauty of the two syllables) been engaged, she’d been engaged to Tamlin, maybe the biggest prick Rhys knew. And she had been moments away from sleeping with his best friend. Never had his dreams turned sour so quickly. That’s what he got for hoping.  


“Don’t look like that,” Mor snapped. Clearly she wasn’t done with the tangent she had started in the club before everything had gone to hell. Dammit.  


“Mor…” Rhys warned.  


“You are telling me you’re looking at this entire night as a series of coincidences, and not an act of divine intervention?”  


Rhysand massaged his temples. Mor’s dramatics were normally amusing, but right now they were just grating on his nerves, “I don’t believe in divine intervention.”  


“Can anyone clue me in on what _the fuck is going on?”_ Cassian asked, interrupting whatever moment Rhys and Mor had been having. Before Rhysand could say anything, however, Morrigan had given him a version of the same speech she had supplied in the club. And in front of Feyre’s friends, who were currently eyeing him like he was a bug begging to be squashed. Rhysand was truly going to kill her.  


“Fuck,” was all Cassian said, “I didn’t know, Rhys.”  


“How could you have?” Rhys said, not even bothering to deny anything Mor had said. This situation had gotten messy enough as it was that lying about something as inconsequential as feelings didn’t seem worth it. Cassian flinched at his tone and looked ready to say something, but before he could-  


“If you’re all done,” Nesta began, “Has anyone else noticed that it has been almost half an hour since they ran off?”  


None of them had and Nesta knew it, “Then,” she continued, “Can we pause the dysfunctional family charades and try to find her?”  


Rhys’ circle was too dumbfounded to even argue and Rhys saw Lucien pull out his phone and step away to presumably call Tamlin. Rhysand pushed down his disappointment in the other man. Rhys had never known Lucien to be cruel in the same ways Tamlin was, and he had always excused Lucien’s behavior as being misguided. But then he flashed back to how Tamlin had thrown Feyre around and hot rage filled him at the thought of anyone being complacent in it. The Spring Court, bastards all of them.  


Not that his own circle had done much better, Rhys mused. Cassian hadn’t intervened in any useful way once Tamlin had shown up. Sure, he was full of bravado and “hands off the lady”, but that’s where it ended. Azriel had been too focused on keeping anyone from throwing punches (admirable) to actually care about the why. Even Rhys himself had been too shocked to leap into action. Only Mor had done anything helpful, and though Rhys knew he was taking it personally because it was Feyre and not some random club girl, he was disappointed in himself and his brothers.  


Nesta and the other girl were already gone by the time Rhys drew his attention away from Lucien. Good, he didn’t need to make himself into any more of an idiot than he already had. Az and Mor looked ready to go off into their own directions, leaving Cass, Amren and Rhys to head in the opposite way. Amren looked at the two men in front of her and immediately turned on her heels and walked away not willing to listen to whatever was going to happen next. Cassian eyed Rhys warily, but there was no fight left in him even if he was angry. And he wasn’t. Tired and disappointed, but not angry at Cass. Maybe he should be more worried by the lack of any kind of emotion, but he was tired. Rhys gave him the smallest of nods, which was enough for Cassian to relax.  


“So…is this going to be the kind of thing we never speak of again, or the kind of thing where you punch me out then forgive me?” Cassian asked carefully.  
“I’m all for never speaking of it again.” Rhys replied.  


“Rhysand…”  


“Cassian.”  


Both men flinched at the use of their full names. “I am normally okay with suppressing emotions,” Cassian said, “But I feel like this is kind of like the Mor thing and eventually you are going to kick my ass anyways. So we might as well get it over with.”  


He just had to mention the Mor thing. Why could no one follow through with never speaking of it again? Yes, Cassian had slept with Mor a million years ago and yes, Rhys had kicked his ass over it. And no matter how Mor felt, it wasn’t Rhys trying to control her sexuality. It was that it was so soon after Eris, and Cassian was just going to break her heart (which is exactly what happened). But then Mor had come out as a lesbian which almost certainly meant it would never happen again, so Rhys had forgiven him. Rhysand sighed, knowing Cass was right but unwilling to admit it. Cassian took it as invitation enough to continue.  


“Why didn’t you tell me?”  


“It was too late by the time I noticed who she was,” Rhys shrugged.  


“No,” he continued, “Why didn’t you tell me _months_ ago. We might not be in this situation if you had.”  


“The ‘you making out with my dream girl situation’ or the ‘said dream girl dating my worst enemy’ situation?”  


Cassian let out a vaguely amused snort, “Really Rhys, this was an easily avoidable problem.”  


“How was I supposed to know out of all the girls in that club, you’d pick the only one that would matter?”  


“Because it’s me, and making choices with my cock rarely leads to good things,” Cassian said.  


“Lest we forget your three stalkers, the time you slept with your boss, the woman who locked herself in our bathroom for three days, and the woman who tried to sue you for child support of the kid she’d had a year before she met you.”  


“Good old Jennifer, I wonder how she’s doing,” Cassian mused. The two erupted in a fit of giggles very unbecoming of two grown men, “Really, Rhys, I’m sorry.”  


“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Rhys replied honestly. And it was true, all the fight had gone out of him the moment Feyre had been out of sight. Rhysand didn’t know he was capable of having his heart broken, not after Amarantha had so thoroughly demolished it. But it turned out that there would always be unbroken parts of Rhys that he wouldn’t know about until they were destroyed. He supposed that was just life.  


It didn’t make it hurt any less, “If I’m off the hook, does that mean you’re going to kick Mor’s ass?”  


“You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” Rhys replied, but there was no fire in it. He wanted more of an explanation from her and he would get it, but anger would be too strong of a reaction. She was right. Rhys having no chance with Feyre was his own fault, and so what if she and Mor were friends?  


That’s what the rational part of Rhys said. Something deep inside of him told him that something was either very, very wrong with this situation or very, very right. Rhys didn’t believe in divine intervention, but there was a part of him that believed in fate. After everything that had happened with Amarantha, how could he not believe it happened for a reason? How could he continue living if he thought that everything he went through wasn’t because he was destined for something better?  


Rhys’ philosophical tangent was cut off my Cassian’s phone ringing. He watched with vague curiosity at Cassian’s clipped replies, “Mor found her,” was all Cassian said, “Then her sisters promptly swept her away and took her home.”  


Sisters. Another nugget of information that Rhysand stored away. No, Rhysand didn’t believe in divine intervention, but he had to believe that Feyre would be coming into his life again. 

* * *

* * *

“Okay, give me that ass kicking,” Mor said when she called him the next morning. At 6 am. How was she not hungover? Rhys hadn’t even had anything to drink last night and he felt far worse than she sounded.  


“I’m not going to kick your ass, cousin,” Rhys said, “At least not about Feyre. For calling me at 6 in the fucking morning however…”  


“Shut up and come over,” she said, “I need to tell you everything.”  


That had Rhysand’s attention. He was out of his own apartment in under five minutes.  


As it happened, Mor and Rhys technically lived together. They had gone to the same college and now worked at the same company, so they’d never had cause to live apart and they thought it was better to share a place then to bother renting two studios or dealing with roommates. As it also happened, Mor had practically started living with her girlfriend of a year, Vivian. Rhys was counting down the days until Mor told him she was officially moving out.  


Rhys had nothing against Vivian, by all accounts she was a lovely girl and she mellowed Mor out quite a bit, something that he was eternally grateful for. What he hated was the fact that he would eventually be forced to have to think about what to do with Mor’s room. He had grown too attached to the apartment to move. If he was smart, he would sublet it. But he’d gotten used to living with someone he didn’t have to hide himself from. At 25, Rhys didn’t really want to take on a new roommate. He supposed it could always keep it open for Cass or Az or any number of people in his life that often found themselves without a bed to sleep in for any number of reasons (for Cassian, the reason was normally that Rhys’ place was closest to the clubs and he didn’t feel like getting his drunk ass home most of the time).  


Rhys had almost convinced himself to keep the two bedroom without Mor even though it was a waste of money by the time he made it to Vivian’s. As it turned out, Mor was far less chipper this morning than she had let on over the phone. And why would she be? It was 6 in the FUCKING morning.  


“Okay, so I lied on the phone,” Mor began as she set down a cup of coffee in front of Rhysand, “I’m not going to talk about Feyre, well not at first.”  


“Are you fucking kidding me, Mor,” Rhys said with an eye roll, “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour of the day?”  


“We need to talk business,” Mor continued. This killed whatever argument had been on Rhys’ lips. He had been neglecting the business. After Amarantha, Rhysand had been less than enthusiastic to work at the record label she helped build then tried to destroy. Mor (and Amren for that matter) had given him more than a generous grace period to get his shit together, but Rhys had been fading away as CEO little by little for two years. Fade away he would do no longer, it seemed. Rhys gave her a small nod to continue, “Tarquin wants to walk.”  


“Tarquin?” Rhys asked incredulously, “Our Tarquin? The one we made into a household name? He wouldn’t leave.”  


“Tamlin made him an offer,” Mor said.  


“He has a three record contract with us,” Rhys replied ignoring the point about Tamlin.  


“Whatever he’s been offered must be better than the penalty for breaking his contract.”  


“I swear to god, Mor,” Rhys sighed, “None of these musicians can fucking read their contracts. Tamlin’s going to cheat him out of everything.”  


The problem was that Rhysand actually cared about what happened to Tarquin. He was good guy, if misguided. And he was one of the few clients that had stuck with Illyrian Night Records after all the bad press Amarantha had caused. So what had changed? Tamlin was going to double cross him, Rhys knew this. It had happened to nearly every client that Tamlin had stolen so far. But somehow word of his shady business practices never got out. Rhysand was going to figure out why someday, but right now he was too focused on keeping his own business afloat.  


The story went like this: Rhysand inherited the record label from his father at the age of 18 after his untimely death. Rhys hadn’t really wanted it, but Mor had so they began to work on it together. Then he met Amarantha, and Rhys thought she was the love of his life. He was going to marry her. Then he found out she had been embezzling money and leaking contract details to Tamlin so he could steal their clients by offering them just a little bit more and taking a larger cut later (because again, no one really read their contracts as well as they should).  


Then she died.  


A car crash right after Rhys had broken up with her. She was upset and driving erratically and it was entirely her fault, so the police report said. In reality, Rhysand was caught in the terrible situation of being absolutely furious with a dead person while also still being incredibly in love with her.  


Of course, there was much, much more. Amarantha’s betrayal ran deep, and in retrospect everything she had ever done with Rhys was a clue to what she’d actually been up to. There were so many signs that Rhys missed, so many red flags he’d ignored. Hindsight was 20/20.  


Rhys never thought about the details of it for too long. He’d tried therapy for a while to help him cope, but no matter who he talked to and what he tried, he was left feeling empty. He was repressing shit, that much was clear. The problem was he couldn’t be bothered to even try to remember. Eventually that led to full on breakdown that never really ended. Hence why Amren and Mor were essentially running the company.  


“I’ll call Tarquin today. Talk some sense into him.” Rhys said, “What else?”  


“The monthly projections don’t look very good,” Mor began, “But that’s not surprising considering we’re only just beginning to see profits from everyone we signed back after…”  


_After Amarantha_. It went unspoken. Bless Mor, she really didn’t bring anything up until she absolutely had to.  


“The biggest problem,” she said, “Is that we need new talent. Most of our bands contracts are almost up, and I don’t think most of them are going to resign. We need to majorly scout or we’re not going to have anyone left.”  


“Except no one who knows anything about the music business will want to sign with us after everything,” Rhys countered. Because after Amarantha had been found out, instead of Tamlin coming out looking bad it had been Rhys’ own company. For some reason. And now Illyrian Night had a reputation for skimming off the top and cheating bands of their profits.  


“So we scout people who don’t know anything about the business,” Mor countered.  


“And look like the people who take advantage of new talents? That’s hardly a solution, Mor.”  


“Well, Rhysand,” she said, “Unless you have a way for every other label and act to suddenly believe that Amarantha was the only bastard at this company, then we don’t have much of a choice.”  


Rhys shrugged. _Fair enough_. They were forced to rebuild, and if they had to do that on the back of a bad reputation, then so be it. They would make it, they always did.  


The silence between them was deafening. It seemed clear that Mor was done with whatever business talk she’d had to have at 6 in the fucking morning and there was only one thing left to talk about. Rhysand couldn’t decide what he wanted to ask first. He was too afraid to ask anything at all.  


“Three months,” Mor said unprompted, “I met her three months ago.”  


Rhys kept his temper in check. He knew his cousin, and lashing out would only make her storm off. Three months of lies. That was half the time the time Rhys had known her (not known her, liked her), “Oh?”  


“Don’t do that,” she said, “Don’t do that fake aloof thing.”  


Acting like he didn’t care would also make her storm off. Many things made Mor storm off. Rhys also knew this.  


“Did you know about Tamlin?” he asked.  


“No,” she said immediately and vehemently, “If I had known about Tamlin she wouldn’t be with him anymore.” Rhys believed her. Mor was probably the only person in the world who hated Tamlin more than Rhys did. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he suspected it had something to do with Eris. He was Lucien’s brother and Tamlin’s friend and it seemed like bastards always attracted each other. Like called to like and Mor could barely stand to be in the same room as Tamlin.  


“And you didn’t tell me you were friends with her because?”  


“Because you weren’t going to make a move and it seemed needlessly cruel to bring her around here,” she said. Rhys left her words hanging in the air. He should be angrier, but apparently rightful anger was even too much for him these days. When he looked up, Mor was looking at him with the same disappointment he’d seen at the club but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  


As if she could read his thoughts and his apathy, Mor stood up and gave him a kiss on the crown of his head. The tenderness of it almost brought tears to his eyes, “You know, cousin, I never said to who it be cruel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! I'm sorry for the delay, but this one fought me every step of the way. The next few chapters are looking in much better shape and I'm hoping to get the next one out by the end of the week! Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Feyre needed her stuff.  


Desperately.  


All she had were the clothes she’d come to Nesta’s in and those had seen better days. Feyre didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but Nesta’s clothes were far too matronly for her taste and Elain’s too… Elain.  


Feyre really needed to go home and pack her shit. The problem was she was unwilling to face Tamlin. His last words to her still haunted her. _You will come back_. Like hell she would, but she’d never known Tamlin to not get what he wanted, and she didn’t want to witness the tantrum he’d throw when he really and properly realized she was gone.  


Feyre had three options: keep looking like an odd cross between a nun and a playboy bunny in her sister’s clothes, buy a whole new wardrobe, or sneak in and get her stuff while Tamlin was at work.  


The only issue with option three was that it was nearly impossible to know when Tamlin would be at work since he set his own hours. That, and it made her a coward. But if cowardice would get her ceramic coffee mug collection back, then so be it.  


The only thing Feyre didn’t want was for anyone to come with her. Well, she really, _really_ wanted someone to come with her, but she would die if anyone witnessed her having another breakdown, especially Nesta who barely tolerated the first one. She considered calling Mor, but that would lead to more questions than Feyre was able to answer right now. Mor had been the one to find her wondering in the park alone and shoeless (they really were damn impractical heels) and Feyre had been unable and unwilling to explain why she’d disappeared for two weeks. Mor had sighed and forced Feyre to take her number once she found out her phone was still at Tamlin’s. She hadn’t taken advantage of her offer of friendship yet, but she would. She owed her friend a million and one apologies, but she wasn’t prepared to offer them. She’d get there.  


_Deal with the problem at hand, Archeron_ , she chastised herself. All her flannels were with the hands of the enemy and who knew what he’d done to them. If her stuff was trashed, Feyre might actually commit a murder. After everything, she deserved at least this.  


So Feyre did what any normal person would do in this situation. She told Nesta she was going to work and needed to borrow her car and actually went to go stakeout her abusive ex boyfriend’s apartment. This was a foolproof plan. This was the worst idea Feyre had ever had.  


The good thing about Tamlin was that he was a creature of habit. She couldn’t be completely sure he’d be going into work on a Monday afternoon, but he usually did. When Feyre saw him leave the complex in a casual suit she was confident he wouldn’t be back for at least a few hours. She’d give herself three hours. She wouldn’t be able to save everything, but she’d get enough to get by. Losing half her stuff in exchange for never seeing Tamlin again was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Feyre had been meaning to do some spring cleaning anyways, this was just forcing her hand. She was making an effort to see the brightside of her shitty situation.  


The familiarity of parking in her usual spot nearly gave Feyre vertigo. God, maybe she should have taken someone with her. No, she was a strong self-sufficient woman and she was getting her stuff back by herself. She took a few deep breaths and entered the lobby. Luckily, she didn’t see anyone she knew. Feyre and Tamlin had been fighting almost nonstop for months, and she knew the neighbors heard most of the time. Feyre couldn’t deal with her friends asking where she’d been, and the little old lady in 4B saying she was sure Feyre had moved out, like she did anytime she was gone for more than a day.  


Feyre pulled her keys out with shaking hands. She could do this. It was three hours of her life and then she’d be done with Tamlin.  


Actually seeing the apartment hadn’t shocked Feyre as much as she thought it would. She wasn’t spiraling, she wasn’t having a panic attack. She was just sad. Sad that she thought she’d spend the rest of her life in this apartment and now she was in it for the last time. She began with the bedroom packing her favorite clothes and leaving what she thought she’d never wear. She left almost every bit of lingerie, sure she’d never be able to disentangle the underwear from memories of birthdays and anniversaries. Better to just buy new lacy things.  


Feyre left the sheets even though she had been the one to buy them. There were shared things she wanted more, and like the underwear the blankets reminded her of risqué nights and mornings spent sleeping in. The overwhelming sadness took hold of her again. Feyre figured it would be easier once she was out of the bedroom. She left all of their pictures and took her jewelry and makeup. She left almost all of her books save for her favorites and the few she hadn’t read yet.  


Feyre made her way to the living room. She wished she could take the couch, but she settled for the stained glass table lamps she bought last year. It was a petty thing to take, but she always loved them more than Tamlin had and he was definitely getting the better end of this arrangement anyways. She deserved the fucking lamps.  


The kitchen it where Feyre really cleaned up. Tamlin got to keep the apartment itself even though they shared the rent until Feyre quit her job, and he got to keep the furniture and all their sentimental items. Feyre consoled herself with the coffee maker and the toaster. She packed her mugs and most of the plates and bowls for good measure. She took half of the silverware but all the fancy knives. Feyre was being exceptionally fair all things considered. She was almost done loading the boxes into her car when she the door opened.  


Feyre had greatly miscalculated. It had been less than two hours since Tamlin had left and there was no hiding this time. Half of the apartment was gone and Feyre was in the middle of the kitchen.  


“I wasn’t holding your things hostage, Feyre,” Tamlin said as he spotted her, “You didn’t need to break in.”  


“It’s not breaking in if it’s my house.”  


“You made it very clear that it wasn’t your house,” he replied. The exchange had the words of their old banter, but none of the humor. It was the cold sarcasm that could turn to rage at any moment. Feyre was shaking despite herself. When had she started being so afraid of him?  


“I wish we hadn’t ended this way,” Feyre admitted. She was three boxes away from freedom. Feyre would be tempted to leave them if they weren’t all clothes. She had already made a lot of cuts to her possessions and she couldn’t really afford to leave most of her wardrobe behind.  


“I meant what I said, Feyre,” Tamlin said. He stepped towards her. There was nothing threatening in the action except for his fists already clenched at his sides and his eyes angry, “You will come back to me.” Feyre didn’t bother answering. They’d had this argument before and Feyre wasn’t going to follow the script this time. Tamlin could live in his own delusions for the rest of his life for all she cared. Feyre was going to move on. She made a move to pick up the box by the door, but Tamlin stepped in front of her. She regarded him warily and tried to step around him, but then he was holding her arm. Fear coursed through her even though there was nothing to be afraid of yet.  


“Feyre,” he tone was low and soft. It was the kind of tone that used to make Feyre melt. If there wasn’t so much history between them, it might still, “I miss you so much.”  


She missed him too. But not the man in front of her, Feyre missed the Tamlin from when she was 18. He’d seemed so unbelievably good then. He’d taken her in and loved her when she had no one. He’d been 22 and seemed to have everything figured out. She was too young and lonely to know better. He’d prayed on that for 5 years, but now Feyre was smarter.  


“Let me go,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. Tamlin complied but stayed close enough that he could grab her again. It made Feyre’s skin crawl.  


“We have so much we still need to talk about,” Tamlin said not breaking eye contact with her, “But all I want to do it apologize again and again. I’m so sorry, Feyre. And we will get past this.”  


Feyre almost laughed. He was losing his mind and Feyre would feel bad for him if she wasn’t so broken herself. The difference was that Tamlin didn’t want to get better. He was content to pretend like everything was okay when they were both drowning. But Feyre was learning to swim, and she was swimming far, far away from him. It seemed like hard breakups had made her quite metaphorical.  


“I’ll come back for the rest of my things,” Feyre said. She tried to push past him, but Tamlin was having none of it. He grabbed her arm not gently like before, but with the purpose of actually keeping her restrained.  


“We aren’t done here, Feyre,” Tamlin said, “I made a mistake, but so did you.”  


“The only mistake I made was staying with you for five years.”  


Rage flared in Tamlin’s eyes and he shoved her backwards until she was nearly falling over the couch. Finally, he wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t. This was who Tamlin truly was. Feyre would feel secure in her decision to leave if she wasn’t so goddamned scared of what he was going to do. It would be more than a slap, to be sure. But even if she left this apartment needing a cast, it would be worth her freedom.  


“I saved your life. I saved your sister’s lives. And I nearly ruined myself to do it,” Tamlin said. He held her arms like he had had at the club, his nails biting into her arms. She was going to bruise, but what was one more mark on her already broken body, “All because I loved you. And you repay me by leaving?”  


“I’ll scream,” she said.  


An empty fucking promise, and Tamlin knew it. Their neighbors had listened to not only the screaming matches, but also when Tamlin escalated to breaking things and they didn’t care. He could murder her and no one would come. The thought was more terrifying because that scenario was quickly turning into an actual possibility.  


Feyre should keep her mouth shut. She should let Tamlin ride out his anger and come back another day. She should have some instinct for self-preservation. But keeping quiet was against her nature, “I never asked for the money. And I’m not the one who ran your business into the ground.”  


Tamlin practically growled, “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”  


“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. Or your child,” she replied, “I am leaving and I’m never coming back, Tamlin. If you want me to play the quiet little housewife, you’ll have to keep me locked up.”  


He regarded her for a minute, as if deciding just what to do with her. “Fine,” Tamlin said finally. And then she was being yanked backwards. Feyre was too shocked to regain her footing as Tamlin dragged her towards the closet. She tried to cry out, but she couldn’t form the words. _You’ll have to keep me locked up_. He was going to lock her up. Feyre had sealed her own fate. Tamlin was so much bigger than her that there was nothing Feyre could do. Tamlin hauled her to her feet and gazed into her eyes. There was none of the softness there, just cruelty and anger.  


“You made me do this, Feyre. Remember that,” Tamlin said as he unceremoniously threw her in the closet. In the precious seconds it took Feyre to stand, Tamlin had shut the door and she heard the lock click. Then all she knew was unrelenting darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was about time to get back to canon a little bit. Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter for referenced attempted sexual assault

Feyre was back in that car. Flipped upside down and the metal caving in on her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She was dying. She was already dead. _You’re having a panic attack, dipshit_ , her inner voice said.  


She wasn’t in a car. She was locked in Tamlin’s closet and she’d had a panic attack then passed out. Her sudden bought of logic quickly vanished as she realized this was just as bad of a situation. Worse. After the accident there had been people to help her. Now, she was alone. Feyre didn’t even have her phone. She should have told Nesta where she was going. She should have told _someone_ where she was going. Had Feyre always been this reckless or was it a side effect of being suicidal?  


Objectively, it was a very roomy closet as closets go. It was practically a walk in and with Feyre’s clothes gone it wasn’t very cramped. That being said, she was very much still locked in a closet. She could try to break the door down, but Feyre was sure she wouldn’t be able to. That didn’t stop her from throwing her shoulder against it hard enough to leave bruises. She could try screaming, but that had never helped during her fights with Tamlin. The neighbors either wouldn’t make out enough to know she was in trouble or they wouldn’t care. She’d just have to wait for Tamlin. Feyre couldn’t believe he was just here waiting to let her out, he must have gone back to work. It could be hours. Feyre flashed back to all the times he’d worked overnight and slept in his office. It could be days before he came back, if he even let her out when he came back at all.  


The thought made the walls shrink and suddenly Feyre couldn’t tell where she ended and the darkness began. She tried the breathing exercises she learned in therapy. She tried to picture herself in a wide open field or the ocean or basically anywhere that wasn’t a very small space. But it was a losing battle. Soon Feyre started to see spots and she swayed on her feet. Tamlin knew. He _knew_ what closed spaces did to her. He had been there after the accident when she couldn’t stand getting a CAT scan because of how small the tube they’d have to put her in was. He knew what this would do to her and he didn’t care. She had to get out of here. Now. She didn’t care that it was her versus a locked door and she was having a panic attack. She had to get out. She threw herself hard against the door. She scratched and pounded and screamed her throat raw. She cried. She prayed. She pounded on the door some more. It felt like hours, but maybe it was only minutes. Eventually Feyre collapsed against the door in exhaustion. She was going to die here, she was sure of it. After all she had endured, after running away from home, and a car accident, and a suicide attempt she was going to die locked in closet by a man she once loved.  


Feyre couldn’t stop the sobs wracking her body so loud they were practically screams. She hadn’t allowed herself to really cry since that first night with Nesta and now there were two weeks of emotions pouring out of her. She couldn’t help scratching at her arms with her nails, but vaguely noticed that most had been cracked or broken by pounding on the door, which for some reason made her cry harder.  


Feyre’s sobs had turned to sniffles when she heard the knock on the door. The closet was at the back of the apartment, but she still heard a muffled “Feyre?” from the front door.  


Feyre stood up shakily. Was she hallucinating now? No one knew she was here, how was someone here to rescue her? But she heard the call again, “Hello?” Feyre yelled back.  


“Feyre! It’s Mor, is that you?”  


Feyre nearly collapsed in relief, “Mor!”  


“The door’s locked, how do I get in?”  


Feyre wracked her brain for the location of the spare key. It had only been two fucking weeks since she’d lived her. It seemed like her panic and exhaustion had made literally any piece of useful information leave her brain. She only knew two things: the dark that consumed her and the light that was only a door away.  


“Honey, I need you to tell me how to get it,” Mor soothed. She was doing an excellent job of seeming calm, but Feyre knew her and could hear the panic lacing her voice. She must sound in as bad a shape as she felt.  


“Lobby,” Feyre choked out, “They can give you a spare key in the lobby.”  


“Will they give it to me?”  


Feyre gave Mor any information they may ask to prove her identity. She hadn’t recognized the doorman when she came in, so there a chance he wouldn’t know Mor didn’t live here. And in any case, “My friend is locked in a closet,” was at least a good enough story to warrant a trip up here.  


“Feyre, I’m going to go get the key,” Mor said calmly, “I will be right back then I’m getting you out of there.”  


Feyre couldn’t make herself answer, but she heard Mor practically sprinting down the hall. Hope had just started to fill Feyre’s heart when she realized how truly fucked they’d be if Tamlin came back. How long had she been in here? It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Feyre remembered passing out in a panic turning into sleeping. It could be the next day already for all she knew. There was a very real possibility that Tamlin would come back. Feyre wanted to be all bravado. She wanted to tell herself that she would die before she let Tamlin touch Mor. But she was very much stuck in a closet, and she knew in turn Mor would die before she let Tamlin touch Feyre. And there was not a damn thing she could do to stop Tamlin if he decided to direct his anger at her friend. This sent a new wave of panic through her. How long had Mor been gone? Five minutes, ten? She was at the point of pounding on the door again when she heard the front door unlock. There was an agonizing moment before she heard Mor call out. Feyre let the tears fall that she hadn’t really known were in eyes.  


“Oh god,” Mor said. Clearly she had been expecting some sort of easily removable barricade. But Feyre was truly locked in and there were no spare keys for the closet, “Feyre, honey, are you okay?”  


Feyre couldn’t make herself speak. Mor’s voice so close to her yet unable to reach her made her unable to do anything but cry. She could feel another panic attack rising in her, and no matter how much she tried to fight it she couldn’t stop the hyperventilating.  


“He locked me in,” she whimpered.  


“I know, honey,” she soothed, “I’m going to get you out.”  


Calming words they might be, but a fucking lie and they both knew it. Feyre slumped back against the door, not having the energy to keep herself standing. She was vaguely aware of Mor asking her questions and muttering to herself, but black was creeping into Feyre’s vision and she couldn’t say anything useful.  


“I need to get help,” Mor said.  


“No,” Feyre said, “You can’t get anyone else mixed up in this.”  


“Then the police.”  


“ _No_ ,” Feyre said again. Even if she got out of this closet, she’d still have to deal with Tamlin. He’d made it very clear that he wouldn’t let her go. Tamlin was influential, calling the cops would only make things harder for her.  


“Shit,” Mor said, “Okay, let me think.”  


Mor spent a few more minutes pacing and swearing before saying, “Feyre, I have to call someone.”  


She tried to protest, but found she didn’t have the energy to. 

* * *

Mor didn’t know how Nesta had gotten her number and she didn’t really care at the moment. Not when she heard what she had to say.  


“Feyre’s been gone all day and I have no idea where she is.” Nesta said. No hello. No, “hey this is your best friend’s sister”. But Mor didn’t hear anything except that Feyre was gone.  


“I don’t know where Tamlin lives,” Nesta continued, “But you know him, so I thought maybe…”  


“You think she’s at Tamlin’s?”  


“That’s my only guess,” Nesta said, “Or maybe she’s fine and I’m paranoid. But please, can you go check?”  


Her words to Rhysand had been true; if Mor had known Feyre was dating Tamlin, she would have broken them up. Once Tamlin had been a dear friend to her, as close as Cass and Az. Once, she thought Spring and Night were allies against the rest of the industry. They were both always underestimated because they had inherited their companies young.  


But even before Tamlin double crossed Rhysand, Mor had a vendetta against him. One that no one else in her circle understood, because no one else knew. Tamlin hadn’t introduced Mor to Eris, but he was the reason they got together. “Together” was probably too strong of a word for their relationship. Eris had been engaged. The whole time. Tamlin and Lucien knew it and said nothing . Mor liked him, she liked him a lot really. But when she found out about his engagement, she ended it. Then Eris tried to force himself on her, convinced that she wanted it; wanted him. That was the only part no one else knew. Except Tamlin. Tamlin was the one who stopped it, but he knew it was something Eris had… done before. And still, he’d set them up. Still he put Mor, his friend, in danger. Ever since, Morrigan had been unable to stand the sight of the man.  


And now here she was, trying to break into his closet.  


Feyre had gone worryingly silent, and no matter what Mor said Feyre didn’t respond. Nesta said she had left around noon and it was nearing 8 pm. She must have been in there for hours. If Mor wasn’t so preoccupied trying to get her out, she’d leave and murder Tamlin herself. That is, if Tamlin didn’t walk in on them first.  


Mor was sure she’d eventually get the door open on her own, but not knowing Tamlin’s whereabouts put her on a clock. She wasn’t scared for her own safety, at least not as much as she should have been considering what he’d done to Feyre, but she couldn’t let Feyre see him. Mor knew he was a bastard, but she’d never thought he was this sadistic. Feyre hadn’t said much when Mor found her after the fight at the club, but she did say he promised she’d come back. Apparently, he meant she’d come back whether she wanted to or not. Mor didn’t dwell on what might have happened if she hadn’t have found her. _I’ll get her out then she’ll never see him again_. Mor wouldn’t allow it. She’d kill Tamlin before she let him lay a hand on her.  


“Feyre, I have to call someone.” No answer. She called Rhys. She wanted to get out of the apartment to ensure Feyre wouldn’t hear her, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. No one could get past her. But Mor was irrationally afraid that Feyre would just disappear and it would be Mor’s fault. Instead, she just stepped into the kitchen.  


“Yes?” Rhys asked on the third ring. He was somewhere busy if the background noise was any indication.  


“Are you busy?”  


“I’m with Tarquin,” he said. _Shit. Shit_. The _one time_ in the past two years Rhys decided to actually do his work.  


“Listen,” Mor said seriously, “I am going to say something and you can’t get angry. Or upset. Basically just don’t react.”  


“What’s wrong?” Rhys asked, his voice already laced with worry. So much for not reacting.  


“I’m at Tamlin’s,” she began. Mor cutoff whatever Rhys was going to say, “The bastard locked Feyre in and I can’t get her out. I don’t know how long I have until Tamlin gets back. I need your help.”  


Mor heard only a whispered apology to Tarquin before he said “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Mor was talking absentmindedly to Feyre when she heard the door open. She practically jumped a foot off the ground, but when she turned it was just Rhys, who looked more pissed off than she’d ever seen him. _Good_ , she thought, _at least he’s feeling something_.  


“I’m going to break the damn door down,” he practically growled.  


“Cut that shit out,” Mor snapped, “She’s scared enough as it is. She doesn’t need to see another angry man today.”  


Rhys didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t. Rhys had suffered a lot in the past two years, but there was something so uniquely traumatic about being a woman terrorized by a man. Mor was glad he’d never know that pain, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t immune to inflicting it. Mor remembered just after Eris when he could barely stand to be alone with Cass or Az simply because they were men and if they got angry she wouldn’t be able to stop them. It was ridiculous, she knew, but trauma did weird things. Who knew what state Feyre would be in when they freed her?  


And they needed to free her soon. Mor had been there for almost an hour and Feyre had barely made a noise. They were running out of time. _She_ was running out of time.  


“I have some tools in the car,” Rhys said. A few minutes later, he came back with a toolkit Mor had no idea the origins of.  


“What are you going to do?” Mor asked as he pulled out a hammer.  


“I’m going to take the door off it’s hinges.”  


“Why didn’t I think of that?” Mor asked. _Because you were panicking, idiot_ , Mor thought. Her emotions must have been written on her face, because Rhys gave her a sympathetic look.  


“Feyre,” Rhys said soothingly, “I’m going to take the door off. Get as far back as you can.” He gave her a moment to answer, and when she didn’t he swore under his breath and got to work.  


The door was off in a matter of minutes, and what Mor saw on the other side broke her heart.  


Feyre, her strong and beautiful friend, curled up on the floor with her head against her knees. She could see scratch marks climbing up her arms and bruises littering her bare shoulders and biceps. Nearly all her nails were broken and Feyre was cradling her wrist which looked broken. The worst part was Mor couldn’t be sure what Tamlin had caused and what Feyre did to herself.  


Mor was going to kill him. She was truly going to murder the bastard the next time she saw him.  


Rhys laid a hand on her shoulder. _Not the time_ , his gaze said. Mor shook her head and snapped herself out of it. There would be time to rage at Tamlin later, right now they had to get Feyre out. Mor kneeled down in front of her friend searching for the right words.  


“Feyre,” she said carefully, “Honey, we need to leave.” Mor reached a tentative hand out, but Feyre flinched back the second Mor touched her knee. In pain or trauma, Mor wasn’t sure. Physically moving her wasn’t going to be an option. Mor looked at Rhys for some advice, but her cousin was glued in his spot and his eyes were as angry as Mor’s own had been moments before.  


“Feyre,” Mor tried again, “It’s me. Mor.”  


Feyre slowly lifted her head, “Mor?”  


Mor almost started crying in relief, “Yes, Mor.” She repeated. She moved her hand slowly back and covered Feyre’s own.  


“He locked me in,” Feyre said as she stared ahead at nothing. Saying the words seemed to snap her out of her catatonic state and she was crying freely now, “Mor, _he locked me in._ ”  


Then, Feyre was crashing against her and burying her face in her neck. Mor didn’t have the words, so she just let Feyre cry against her and held her.  


“Mor, we have to go,” Rhys said after a few minutes. He looked ready to cry himself. All Mor wanted to do was sit here and comfort her friend, but he was right. They had stayed too long as it was and Tamlin would eventually come back. Mor hoped no one was with him when he realized Feyre was gone.  


Mor carefully extracted herself from Feyre’s arms and helped her up. Almost immediately Feyre’s knees buckled and luckily Rhys was there to catch her or she would have hit the ground hard. Rhys looked at Mor a moment before picking Feyre up in a princess lift. Feyre was too far gone to protest.  


“I didn’t think anyone was coming.”  


“Did you think there was anything in the world that would stop us from getting to you?” Mor replied, “You are free, Feyre.”  


Not safe. _Free_. Feyre was free, and she could finally breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response the last chapter got! I am really excited for the next few chapters, good things are coming my friends, and I can't wait to post them! Let me know your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

“This is weird,” Cassian said over his bagel, “I making this weird.”  


Feyre didn’t say anything. Neither did Rhys. Neither did Mor.  


“I guess it was less weird before I said it was weird.” He continued.  


Feyre didn’t say anything. Neither did Rhys. Neither did Mor.  


It was weird. It was weird that Rhys, Cassian, and Feyre were eating breakfast together when the last time they saw each other, Cassian’s tongue was in her mouth. It was weirder that Cassian had come into the apartment in the middle of the night definitely not expecting Feyre to be in Mor’s old room. It was weirder that Feyre woke up screaming when she found someone in the bed. It was weirder still that Rhys and Mor had both had burst into the room not realizing it was Cassian and had him pinned to the floor in seconds.  


That scream was the first noise Rhys had heard Feyre make in days. That was the weirdest thing of all. The Feyre he had met at the club last week was undoubtedly somewhere he couldn’t reach. The Feyre that sat at his table now was broken. And he had no fucking clue what to do. He didn’t even know her well enough to try.  


_Give her time_. Mor said. Easier said than done. She talked to Mor. She confided in Mor. She barely looked his way when Mor wasn’t there. And why should she? She didn’t know Rhys. The only reason Feyre was here was because she didn’t want to lead Tamlin to her sister’s door and Mor had insisted she stay here instead of trying to find her own place so soon. She was only in Rhysand’s apartment because he had the extra room. Which didn’t really matter anyway since Mor had crashed on the couch here every night since Feyre had been here. At least Feyre wasn’t arguing about staying anymore. Rhys hadn’t been there for the fight, but according to Amren she had never seen Mor look so upset. Rhys was kind of glad he hadn’t seen it. Now, Feyre’s boxes littered his living room and her presence was slowly seeping into the space. There was no reason for that to make Rhys happy considering the circumstances, but he still was.  


There was a sense of rightness in the apartment that Rhys couldn’t explain. Like it was fate that Mor’s room would be empty and Feyre would need a place to stay. Just being around her was making Rhys think like a fool. The few times he’d try to talk to her had ended in disaster with Feyre not saying anything and Rhys being unable to let the conversation die so he just kept babbling. He decided after a particularly embarrassing tangent on why he’d bought the towels he did (“The teal just made the room pop a lot more than the royal blue, you know?”) that maybe it was better for him to keep his distance.  


Which normally worked fine except when Cassian was here after a confusing night for everyone and enough history between them all to make any attempt at conversation stagnate. Which didn’t stop Cassian from trying, damn him.  


“I like your hair up like that, by the way,” Cassian said. It was braided in a crown across her head then tied into a bun at the nape of her neck. A few stray strands of golden brown hair had escaped her braid and Rhys had been tempted to tuck them behind her ear all morning. It was lovely, but Feyre made no indication that she’d heard him, “Maybe if it had been up like that at the club, I wouldn’t have gotten so much of your hair in my mouth.”  


“Jesus _fuck_ , Cassian,” Mor snapped.  


At the same time, Feyre stood up, “I have to go to work.” She said with a finality that left no room open for anyone else to say something. Rhys didn’t know her schedule well enough to call her on the lie, “It was… nice to see you Cassian.” She was out the door before Mor could offer to drive her.  


“You are such an idiot,” Rhys sighed,  


“I am trying my best,” Cassian replied, “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t the only fucking person in this circle who didn’t know she was staying here.”  


_Fair enough_. In Rhys and Mor’s defense, though, Az had found out by accident and Amren knew everything whether Rhys told her or not. Rhys and Tamlin ran in the same circles, and most of his colleagues knew Feyre had been his fiancé. Apparently there was a time when Tamlin saw her as more than an ornament for his home and took her to work functions (how Rhys had missed her for four years, he didn’t know). Which meant that if anyone found out Feyre Archeron was staying with Rhysand and Morrigan Night, Tamlin would find out too. And Mor would kill him before she let him see Feyre again. Rhys agreed.  


“Is anyone going to tell me why she’s staying here or is that a Night secret too?” Then, at Rhys and Mor’s silence, “Of course.”  


“I think you forfeited your right to know things when you let Tamlin throw her around,” Mor snapped. It was a cheap shot, but one that had been building in Mor for a while apparently.  


“Christ,” Cassian said, “I expected this from Rhys, but not from you.”  


Mor crossed her arms indignantly, “And why not? She’s my friend.”  


“I didn’t think punching out Tamlin fucking Spring in the middle of the highest profile club in the city after making out with his fiancé wouldn’t be the best idea.”  


Rhys bit his tongue. Cassian was right, it would have been a bad idea. He also didn’t care. Fuck the bad press, fuck their clients. The whole damn company wasn’t worth Feyre having to spend one second more with that bastard. At least that’s what Rhys told himself when he’d left Tarquin in the middle of their negotiations. And it had come with a cost. Tarquin had officially broken his contract with Illyrian Night yesterday, a fact that he hadn’t told Mor just yet. She was focused on helping Feyre heal, let Rhys handle the business for once.  


“That’s never stopped you before.”  


“I was surprised, then you stepped in and it didn’t feel like my fight anymore.”  


Whatever Mor’s retort had been was cut off by a small voice in the doorway, “Mor, please,” Feyre said. How had none of the, heard her come in, “It wasn’t Cassian’s fault. Or your fault, it was only me and Tamlin’s.”  


“No,” Rhys said before he could stop himself, “it was only Tamlin’s.”  


Feyre ignored him, “I forgot my keys.” She said.  


Rhys stood before he could think better of it, “Let me walk you to work.”

* * *

If Rhys had thought breakfast had been weird, this was infinitely more uncomfortable. At least this morning Mor had been there as a buffer. Now it was just Rhys, Feyre, and the chasm of silence between them.  


“You didn’t have to walk me,” Feyre said suddenly, “It’s only a few blocks.”  


“I was heading this way anyways,” he lied, “I like to work in the café across the street.”  


“You haven’t in a while,” Feyre said, “I saw you in the library a lot,” she clarified. Was Rhys imagining the blush creeping up her cheeks?  


“Mor talked about you a lot,” she continued. Rhys was more than content to let her try to fill the silence for once, “It’s almost like she never accepted that you’re all grown up now.”  


Rhys couldn’t help but smile. Whenever it was just the two of them, it was almost like they were teenagers again. Mor a commanding 17 to Rhys’ surly 15. It made him infinitely happy that she missed those days too. Feyre eyed him curiously but didn’t ask anything.  


“I didn’t know you were friends with Mor, actually,” Rhys said, “Which is weird considering we both worked at the library a lot.”  


“I um,” Feyre stammered, “Sort of asked her not to tell you.”  


Rhys eyebrows practically shot up to his forehead. This was certainly interesting information, “And why would that be?”  


“She thought I’d like you,” Feyre said. Interesting indeed. Rhys couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “And I didn’t want to give Tamlin a reason to worry.”  


The smile vanished. As quickly as the friendly banter popped up between the two of them, one mention of Tamlin and it was gone and they were plunged back again into the unsteady silence. Mor’s words echoed in his head. _I never said to who it would be cruel._ Rhys hadn’t understood, but now he did. After spending some real time with Feyre, Rhys could now feel the very real spark of mutual understanding. In a different life maybe they would have met on their own and become friends and maybe someday more. But they couldn’t have that here, and Mor had wanted to protect them both.  


All too soon they were at the library and neither had spoken a word. “I think I’m going to the café,” Rhys said, his courage apparently spent for the day. Feyre gave the smallest of nods and he turned around.  


“Rhysand,” she said suddenly, “Would you mind… walking me home too?”  


This time, Rhys didn’t even come close to hiding his smile. 

* * *

Rhys walked her home that night and for the rest of the week. And then he did it the week after too. He would have made the move to walk her there too if Mor didn’t always beat him to it and offer to drive her. It seemed like they were finding an odd balance as roommates. They hadn’t had the “how long are you staying” talk, but Rhys knew if she asked to move in more permanently he’d let her. She could probably ask to stab him and he’d hand her the knife. Jesus.  


Rhys had continued working in the café when he needed to. As much as he missed his normal spot between philosophy and literature and the quiet activity that in the café turned to chaos, he didn’t want to crowd Feyre. But his worries seemed to be groundless. A new, awesome development had been about a week after he started walking her home when she came and had a drink with him during her lunch break. He had been so dumbfounded the first time it happened that he didn’t think he’d said a word. That didn’t stop her from doing it again the next day. Now, Rhys always had an iced chai latte waiting for her and she’d bring whatever books she thought he’d like. They normally talked about safe topics, favorite books and movies. But sometimes… sometimes neither could help from mentioning the personal. Today was one of those days.  


“Why’d you leave the art gallery?” Rhys asked between bites of the sandwich Feyre had brought him (“To repay all the coffees.”). She had been an artist. _Had been_. Like the need to make art was something you could kill in yourself. Once upon a time, she said, she was saving up money for college to study art history.  


“That’s…” she trailed off and played with her leather bands, “Tamlin made me quit.”  


Rhys didn’t push her further. He never pushed her when Tamlin came up. Which was often considering the bastard had pretty much been controlling every aspect of her life for the last two years.  


That night, when they were walking her home she said, “I was in a really serious car accident a few years ago. It wasn’t my fault, someone hit me and we went off the road. My car flipped over and I was trapped inside and had a bad concussion. I ended being okay, but the other driver died. It was on my way home from work. Tamlin thought having to drive to and from the gallery everyday would remind me of it. So he convinced me to quit.”  


Rhys didn’t know what to say. Thank you for trusting me? I’m sorry you almost died. He’d experienced enough grief to know that condolences often meant nothing, “Did you hurt your wrists?” he asked, gesturing to her leather bands. He still hadn’t seen her out of them in the three weeks since she’d moved in.  


Feyre started violently and Rhys could almost see her walls coming back up, “No, I…” she began, “I’m sorry, that’s a story for another day.”  


“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”  


“It’s fine, Rhys, really,” she insisted. That was another exciting development. She had started calling him Rhys instead of Rhysand. It made his heart flutter a little bit every time she said it, like she knew him more intimately than she did.  


“The reason I was… like that when you found me was because of the accident though,” she said, “I spent hours trapped in that car and now I can’t stand small spaces.”  


Rhys couldn’t help but clench his fists. Tamlin would have known that. Locking her in was bad enough, but locking her in when she had severe enough claustrophobia that she’d fractured her wrist again and broken every one of her nails to get out was unforgiveable. The prick better hope Rhys never saw him again.  


“I can tell when you’re thinking about Tamlin,” she said. Rhys looked away sheepishly.  


“Feyre,” he said.  


“No, he’s a bastard,” she interrupted, “He deserves whatever you’re thinking about him. Maybe someday you’ll tell me what he did to you.”  


“Mor hasn’t said anything?”  


“She said it wasn’t her story to tell.” Rhys didn’t know what to say to that. Feyre turned a few blocks before the apartment, “I’m having dinner with Nesta and Elain,” she explained.  


“Do you want me to pick you up after?” Rhys asked hoping she’d say yes.  


“No,” she said, “I need to stop being afraid of seeing him around every corner.”  


“Okay,” Rhys replied, “Call if you change your mind. Call anyways when you’re leaving.”  


“Rhys,” Feyre said when turned away, “About staying with you.”  


_Don’t say you’re leaving. Don’t say you’re leaving_. She gave him a shy smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I'm hoping to update by midweek. Let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter 8

Feyre was lying. She wasn’t having dinner with her sisters. She was going to see Lucien. Because no matter what, he was still her best friend, and Feyre owed him an explanation. She hadn’t just left Tamlin, she’d left him too and she loved Lucien like a brother. She had for five years, and even if he was going to take Tamlin’s side in all of this then she owed him a better goodbye than what she gave him at Prythian.  


_He didn’t do anything_ , a voice in her head said. He couldn’t have known of all the things Tamlin had done. Feyre had been a shell of herself when she was with Tamlin, but she didn’t give him any reason to believe that Tamlin wasn’t letting her heal. He didn’t know Tamlin had hit her. He didn’t know Tamlin had locked her up. That’s what she told herself at least, who knew what Tamlin had or hadn’t told him? Just because he kept secrets from Feyre didn’t mean he kept them from his best friend.  


So she was getting dinner with him and ignoring the heavy feeling in her gut telling her something was about to go very, very wrong.  


They were going to the restaurant they’d met in, where Tamlin had introduced them almost five years ago. Maybe that was mistake. Maybe the nostalgia of it would kill, maybe it would remind her of the hundreds of glasses of wine they’d had over the years, sometimes with Tamlin sometimes without. It was about a twenty minute walk from the library but Feyre desperately needed the fresh air. She might suffocate without it.  


She let her mind drift to her current living situation. After Mor had gotten her out she refused to go back to Nesta’s. That would be the first place Tamlin would look for her and she didn’t want to risk her sister’s safety. Tamlin would show up, realize Feyre wasn’t there and hopefully leave. Or he would face Nesta’s wrath and wouldn’t live to tell the tale. Either was more preferable than him finding Feyre alone and her freezing and ending up just as fucked as she’d been in his apartment. She hadn’t put up much of a fight when Mor offered up her room in Rhys’ house. No, the fight didn’t come until a few days later when she tried to leave. Mor didn’t force her to stay, she wouldn’t have after finding her locked in a fucking closet. But her hurt had been deep and raw, and Feyre didn’t know why, but Mor had made it very clear that no matter what Feyre did, Mor wasn’t going to leave her alone.  


_Mor was crying. Feyre was not. She had her bags packed and had called Elain to drop her off at a hotel. She would search for a new place and stay on her own in the meantime.  
_

__

_“This isn’t my house, Mor,” Feyre said resolutely, “This isn’t even your house.”  
_

__

_“It’s my room.”  
_

__

_“I know you basically live with Vivian,” she countered. Feyre was vaguely aware of Amren watching the fight with disguised interest. Feyre would ask her to leave if she wasn’t Mor’s friend and if she wasn’t so damn freaked out by her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the woman blink.  
_

__

_“I went out of my mind for two weeks not knowing where you were,” Mor said, tears falling freely now, “And now you’re just going to walk out again?”  
_

__

_“Mor…” Feyre said. She was right. She’d done a shitty thing. But she couldn’t hurt anyone else. Mor had stepped in when Tamlin had tried to grab her and Mor had gotten her out of Tamlin’s house. If he had come back before Feyre was free… if he had done anything to Mor. Feyre would never forgive herself if something happened to her best friend because of her. And there was some sort of connection between Mor’s family and Tamlin that would ensure he’d take it personally if he ever found out Feyre was staying here. He would never find out. Feyre wouldn’t allow him to. Better to leave now before anyone else got hurt because of her. Anyone else. She was edging dangerously close to how she thought just after the accident. How she thought when she tried to kill herself. She’d never hurt anyone._ This is that woman talking, not you. It wasn’t you fault _. She didn’t listen to herself. Feyre could feel the panic creeping up her throat. She was imagining Mor on the floor, Tamlin pinning her down. All that life draining from her eyes until there was nothing of the Mor she knew. She wouldn’t allow it. She had to leave. She tried to get out, but Mor halfheartedly blocked her path. It wasn’t threatening enough to actually stop Feyre if she really wanted to get past, but enough that she’d have to see her friend’s broken heart as she left. Dammit, Mor knew her too well.  
_

__

_“Please, Feyre,” Mor begged, “I know it hurts. And I know you want to protect me. But I’ve known Tamlin longer than you. I can’t let him hurt you again.”  
_

__

_“It’s not your problem, Mor,” Feyre said. She couldn’t stop her voice from cracking, “I never thought he’d really hurt me. I don’t know how far he’ll go to get me back. Do you think I’d be able to live with myself if something happened to you? Or Rhysand?”  
_

__

_“You don’t make decisions for me, Feyre Archeron,” she said, anger creeping into her voice. Somehow this fight had transformed into something bigger than the two women in it, and Feyre was afraid of whatever she might unleash in Mor. She registered vaguely that Amren looked delighted. What the fuck was going on in this family?  
_

__

_That was another issue. Mor and Rhys were the only ones actually related, but this was no doubt a family that Feyre was decidedly not a part of. Azriel had made that perfectly clear when she’d walked in on him, Rhys and Mor making dinner. He didn’t mean it, but his gaze said intruder. Stranger. Interloper. A million other things that made Feyre know in her soul that she didn’t belong here.  
_

__

_And now her own tears started to fall. She’d never have a place in any family, it seemed. Her mother was dead, her father was god knew where, her sisters tried (sometimes) but they didn’t understand her and Feyre didn’t understand them. Feyre thought she’d always have Tamlin and Lucien, and look where that had gone. Feyre was alone. Always alone.  
_

__

_“What…” Mor stammered as Feyre choked on a sob, “Feyre?”  
_

__

_She couldn’t form words. She was being swallowed by a wave of grief. Every coping mechanism Feyre had ever learned in therapy was just out of her grasp. She couldn’t breathe. She was choking. Suffocating. Drowning.  
_

__

_She was on the floor and she didn’t know how she got there. Mor was kneeling next to her and it was just like when she got out of the closet. Her vision was dancing with black spots and she could only see the woman in front of her, “You have to breathe, sweetie.” Mor soothed, but Feyre could see the worry in her eyes._ Your meds _. She thought,_ you never got your fucking meds. _Oh god. She had been on an antianxiety medication ever since the accident and in all the confusion, she had left them Nesta’s. That explained the worrying frequency of her panic attacks and her inability to cope. Feyre almost laughed with relief. At least now there was a reason.  
_

__

__

_It took her about twenty minutes to calm down and Mor never left her side. Feyre was absurdly glad to the have the woman there, and she was ashamed she tried to push her away. Maybe she didn’t belong to this family, but she had Mor and that was more than enough._  


Once her panic attack subsided, Feyre explained her panic disorder and Mor immediately drove her to Nesta’s. Feyre knew the pills weren’t magic, but she had been steadily improving in the two weeks since. At the very least, she wasn’t drowning anymore.  


Thank god, because Feyre didn’t think she’d be able to get through this dinner with a panic attack always on the horizon.  


She was absurdly early herself, but Lucien was already there. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she’d think he looked fine. But his normally bright eyes were dull and there were dark circles beneath them. He was fidgety and nervous. Feyre wanted to turn around and run. This was a mistake. A mistake. A mis-  


“Feyre,” he said evenly as he spotted her. He looked her up and down, noting every mark on her body including the brace on her right wrist where she had broken it before and the scratch marks raking her arms that had almost healed. Lucien’s dark circles were nothing compared to hers, Feyre hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time since she left Tamlin. She was hard where she was once soft. Angry where she was once kind. She wasn’t Feyre, and Lucien could see it.  


“What happened to you?” he asked. Straight to the point, Feyre could appreciate it even if she was a little startled by his frankness.  


“Tamlin happened,” she replied simply. Lucien visibly stiffened. So this was how it was going to be.  


“Tamlin broke your wrist?” he asked. Honest confusion shone in his eyes. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Relief swept through Feyre. There was honestly a part of her that believed Tamlin had told him everything and Lucien didn’t care; that he knew everything Tamlin had ever done and was complacent in it. But he didn’t have a clue what kind of man Tamlin was. Feyre wouldn’t tell him. His family was worse that Feyre’s. Tamlin was all he had and Feyre wasn’t going to take that away from him, not on purpose at least.  


But Lucien saw right through her, he always did.  


“Don’t lie to me, Fey,” he begged, “Tamlin won’t talk to me, I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you too.”  


“I don’t want you to hate him,” Feyre said before she could stop herself, “I know you love him-”  


“I love _you_ ,” he replied, “Just as much. You’re my best friend Feyre.”  


She told him everything. 

* * *

Lucien had worked so hard to keep his anger in check in the past weeks, but his restraint snapped the second Feyre had walked through the door. He’d had no idea where she was. For more than a month, he had no clue. She had just vanished one night and no one had answers. Not Alis, who he trusted. Not Ianthe, who he didn’t. Tamlin was no fucking help. It was like right after the accident when Lucien was left in the dark for days, and after her suicide attempt when he didn’t know for months what had happened.  


_It wasn’t a secret that Tamlin and Feyre were going through a rough patch. He didn’t need verbal confirmation to see Tamlin spending more time at the office and Feyre rarely leaving home. They all used to go out at least once a week together, and Lucien hadn’t seen the two of them together out of the house for more than three months. He hadn’t gone out with just Feyre in almost six. Something was going very wrong with his best friends, and Lucien had no idea what.  
_

__

_Lucien only knew that Feyre had left when he saw the engagement ring on Tamlin’s counter, apparently the same spot she had left it almost a week before. A week. She had been gone seven days and hadn’t told him. Tamlin wouldn’t even tell him why. Lucien gave him another week before he dragged him out. Before everything had gone down with Rhys, they frequented Prythian together. Lucien knew there was a chance the Nights would be there, and he decided it was worth the risk if it got Tamlin out of his fucking house.  
_

__

_What he did not anticipate, however, was they’d walk in on Feyre with her hands all over Cassian. Before Lucien could stop him, Tamlin was pulling her back and what he saw in Feyre’s eyes… this wasn’t just a normal breakup. She looked afraid of him. Afraid of the man she was planning to marry. When he threw her down, all the puzzle pieces started to fall into place. He’d hurt her. Tamlin had hurt Feyre and she left. Of course she’d want nothing to do with Lucien after that, he considered Tamlin a brother. But Feyre was his best friend and if Tamlin had hurt her… he was so afraid of having to take sides in their breakup, but in this moment there was no doubt in his mind that he’d follow Feyre wherever she went.  
_

__

_But then why didn’t he actually do anything? It seemed like the Nights were as shocked as he was, all but Mor and Rhys stayed frozen in place when Feyre told them too. Lucien tried to will her to look at him, to ask Lucien for help. To do anything but just walk out that door. She ignored him and grabbed Rhys’ (Rhys’!) hand and stormed out. Mor and Tamlin were out immediately after with Nesta and Elain fast on their heels. Only Cassian, Amren, Az, and Lucien strayed behind. The rage that was present in Mor and Feyre’s sisters couldn’t be found in their eyes. So they didn’t know what had happened with Feyre and Tamlin either. Cassian probably didn’t even know who Feyre was. If he did, surely he wouldn’t be seducing her where anyone could see? But with Cass, who ever knew his motives? Lucien sighed and went outside. The Nights and Springs had a long and tumultuous history that not even Lucien knew the depths of.  
_

__

_All through Tamlin and Feyre’s encounter, Lucien remained silent. But the longer the fear persisted in Feyre’s eyes, the more Lucien became convinced that his guess was right. Tamlin had hurt her.  
_

__

_Lucien found Tamlin long after Mor found Feyre and the two barely spoke a word as Lucien drove him home. He noted the odd mixture of shame and rage in Tamlin’s eyes, but there was also a certainty there. Lucien had been so sure Feyre would eventually come back, and Tamlin was apparently still working under that assumption. But Lucien knew better. He knew Feyre better than Tamlin did now. When Feyre decided she was done, she was gone forever. She had done the same thing with her father after years of working to support him and getting nothing back. She had done it with her sisters until their very lives were on the line. And now she was doing it to Tamlin, and Lucien too.  
_

__

_“What did you do to her?” Lucien asked, “And don’t bullshit me, Tamlin.”  
_

__

_“None of your fucking business,” Tamlin snapped. Lucien recoiled from his tone. Tamlin was technically his boss, but first and foremost he was Lucien’s friend. Until the moments Tamlin chose to remind him of their statuses, that is. This was turning into one of those moments and for the first time, Lucien didn’t think he’d be able to take it.  
_

__

_“Tamlin,” Lucien continued, “Did you…” he couldn’t finish the thought.  
_

__

_“Hurt her?” Tamlin laughed humorlessly, “No. Never.”  
_

__

_He was lying. He had to be. Why else would Feyre look so afraid? Why else would she vanish without another word, “Tamlin?”  
_

__

_“What do you want from me, Lucien,” he snarled, “She got a job behind my back, we fought, she left. That’s it.”  
_

__

_A job. Lucien didn’t know Feyre hadn’t been working. He knew she left the gallery after the accident and spent most of the year recovering and most of the next rebuilding herself after the suicide attempt. Lucien assumed she either had part time work or was just focusing on her painting. But when was the last time Feyre had shown him any new work? He’d been so stupid, if Feyre had started a new job she would have told him. Tamlin wasn’t allowing her to work, and Feyre had finally had enough.  
_

__

_Lucien eyed his best friend. He knew Tamlin was more broken then he let on by what Feyre had done almost a year ago. He knew how afraid he was that she’d try again. He knew Tamlin would do anything if it meant not losing Feyre either to herself or someone else. But not let her work? Lucien never thought he’d go that far. Lucien didn’t recognize the man sitting next to him.  
_

__

_“I said not to bullshit me,” Lucien replied as evenly as he could.  
_

____

_“Ask her then, if you’re so sure I’m lying,” he growled, “If she’ll return your calls, that is.”  
_

_____ _

_Lucien didn’t have a retort for that. He needed to get away from Tamlin so he could think. Lucien had never been able to judge him when he was right there. All Lucien could think about were Tamlin’s kindnesses. He had saved Lucien’s life by giving him a job. Lucien could never forget that Tamlin was the only reason he could get far away from his family. But that didn’t mean he was perfect, and if he’d done something to Feyre…  
_

______ _ _

_Lucien was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice Tamlin had left._  


______ _ _

So Lucien called Feyre, and she had called him back. And they had decided to meet the very place they met five years before. It almost made Lucien cry to be back there. He thought he, Tamlin, and Feyre would be a unit forever. Even though she was engaged to Tamlin, Lucien never felt like Feyre didn’t love him just as much. Maybe that should have been a clue that Feyre hadn’t loved Tamlin in a long time.  


______ _ _

When she walked in, it was truly like he was meeting her for the first time again for he didn’t recognize the woman who walked in. Lucien was once again disgusted that he’d never notice Tamlin slowly killing her. Maybe he just didn’t want to realize it. He took in every mark on her body, the fading bruises and scratches and the brace. He glanced at the bands on her wrists and shuddered at the memory. He was happy to note she had regained some of the weight she’d lost after the accident and the color that was returning to her cheeks. Wherever she was, it was doing her good. Lucien was only a little bit sad it wasn’t with him.  


______ _ _

He had expected more resistance, but Feyre told him everything the second he pushed her a little. Maybe Lucien should have felt bad for pushing, but like he told her again and again, she was his best friend and if he’d believe whatever she said.  


______ _ _

That promise was harder to keep than Lucien thought it would be. He didn’t want to believe it, it was as simple as that. There was a difference between suspecting something and knowing it be true, but here Feyre was saying Tamlin had hit her then locked her in his house… this wasn’t the Tamlin Lucien had met more than a decade before. If Feyre was telling the truth, he was a monster. One Lucien couldn’t love anymore.  


______ _ _

And deep down, Lucien knew she was telling the truth. About all of it. He only had to look at her for a second to see all the wounds covering her body and he only had to look into her eyes to see the state of her heart. Tamlin had finally broken her. Lucien realized it had been a long time coming.  


______ _ _

Lucien agonized over every moment of the past two years, and even the three before that. How many times had Tamlin made comments about the gallery and Feyre’s painting? How stupid a hobby he thought it was, how useless it would be once they were married and he was fully supporting her. How many things had Feyre wanted to do that Tamlin shot down? Lucien remembered the trip to Spain he and Feyre spent months planning. It was going to be just the two of them, Tamlin hated going abroad and he was more than busy with the company. They spent almost a year saving and planning only for Feyre to cancel last minute. She never said why, but Lucien always suspected Tamlin was behind it.  


______ _ _

How could he have missed the shell Feyre had become? The fire that was no longer in his best friend’s eyes. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see it. He definitely hadn’t wanted to see it. But now he couldn’t stop seeing it. Long after Feyre left, Lucien stayed at their table in mute horror, tears filling his eyes but not falling. He had failed her, but not anymore. Tamlin wasn’t the man he’d been years ago, and he loved Feyre. Feyre was his best friend and he would be there whatever she needed.  


______ _ _

And someday, he promised, they would go to Spain.

______ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was entirely self-indulgent because I hated the way Lucien was written in acowar and acofas, but isn't that what fic is for? So, Lucien is officially redeemed in MY au because I said so. Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

Feyre left the restaurant with a heart thoroughly raw and bleeding but lighter than it’d been in months. She had told Lucien things she hadn’t even told Mor, things she hadn’t fully accepted herself yet.  


And Lucien had believed her.  


Feyre didn’t realize how terrified she had really been of losing her best friend until it was no longer on the table.  


She thought she was prepared for Lucien picking Tamlin over her, but she knew now that was a heartbreak that would destroy her. Tamlin was a mess after the accident, but Lucien had been her rock. Mor was amazing, and her slowly building friendship with Rhys was far more than she expected from him, but Lucien… Lucien had seen her at her worst and still loved her. Feyre couldn’t stop the wave of relieved tears from pouring as soon as she’d turned her back on him.  


Spain, Feyre thought. Someday they would go to Spain like they had always wanted.  


She suddenly didn’t want to walk the half hour to Rhys’ apartment. She at least didn’t want to do it alone. Without really meaning to, her thoughts drifted to Rhys. She had noticed him at the library, she had even noticed him not so subtly noticing her but she never made a move to talk to him. First of all, he was Mor’s cousin and she didn’t want to risk the new friendship. More importantly, there was Tamlin to consider. Sometimes he barely tolerated her close relationship with Lucien even though he had been the one to introduce them. No, Feyre knew if Tamlin found out about Rhys she probably wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house.  


But now…  


Rhysand was undeniably handsome and there something about him that just clicked with Feyre. Was it the way he opened up his home to her without hesitation? Or how Feyre saw every piece of Mor she admired and so much more mirrored in him? Maybe he was just hot.  


But ever since he had started to walk her home from work, Feyre couldn’t ignore the building attraction in her. She also couldn’t give into it. She would be lying if she said she didn’t still have feelings for Tamlin. Five years of love didn’t just go away overnight, and it had only been a month. Feyre thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. It was too soon for her battered heart to even consider another man.  


Yet here she was.  


Rhys had made the first move, but she was the one who made it something more. Walking her home was innocent enough, easily brushed aside as a safety measure or convenience. _We’re walking the same way, we might as well walk together_. But having lunch together every day for a week? You didn’t do that unless you liked somebody. Feyre liked him. She could hide it behind still raw hurts and the need for friendship, but her days were numbered.  


Still, she pulled out her phone and dialed before she could talk herself out of it. 

* * *

When Rhys picked up the phone he could tell Feyre had been crying. He had been riding the high of her saying thank you all evening, but any mirth left her mind when he heard her hoarse voice.  


“Are you okay?” he asked seriously.  


“Yeah,” she said, “More than okay actually. I don’t want to be alone. Walk me home?”  


He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but Rhys was out the door in minutes.  


When he saw her outside Rita’s, he couldn’t stop the stupid grin that spread across his face. She had certainly been crying, her mascara was in tracts down her cheeks and her eyes were red and puffy. But she looked… happy. Rhys realized with a jolt that he’d never seen her like this before. She was beautiful.  


“Good dinner with your sisters?” he asked.  


“Don’t get mad,” Feyre said, “But I wasn’t with them. I was with Lucien.”  


Lucien. Tamlin’s lackey. His blood ran cold even though clearly nothing had gone wrong, “Oh?”  


“Don’t look like that,” she scolded, “He’s my best friend.”  


Rhys didn’t argue the point, “Do you want to talk about it?” he didn’t really want to hear it. He didn’t hate Lucien, but he hated how he served such a corrupt man. He hated that he failed Feyre. He hated how much she seemed to love him.  


“I owe him so much,” she began, “After my accident and… the fallout, Tamlin was a mess. For months he either wouldn’t leave me alone or he’d spend days at the office. I was either suffocated or abandoned. Lucien was the only thing that kept me sane for two years. And so much happened with me that he didn’t have to stand by me for.”  


Rhys raised his eyebrows but she shrugged, “Story for another day,” he allowed.  


“Then I just vanished. I figured Tamlin would get to him first and he’d never believe me. I didn’t even try to talk to him. That night at Prythian was the first time I’d seen him in more than a month. But… he believed me.” Rhys could see her tears falling, but they weren’t tears of pain he realized. She thought she was going to lose her best friend. Rhys was ashamed of his jealousy. She had clearly suffered so much that he didn’t know about, of course it would be a relief to not lose Lucien on top of it.  


“You wouldn’t mind,” she asked carefully, “If I brought him around the apartment sometime?”  


“You’re talking like you’re moving in,” Rhys said. He tried to make it sound light, like a joke, but Feyre stopped walking. The other shoe was apparently dropping. ‘  


“Do you want me to leave?” she asked. The vulnerability in her voice nearly made Rhys’ heart break.  


“No,” he said too quickly, “The opposite actually.”  


“You… want me to move in?”  


“Only if you want to. I have the room and nothing to do with it, and it’s been lonely without Mor. And she would thrilled if you were close by and-”  


“Rhys,” Feyre cut him off. Her expression was impossible to read. Was it embarrassment? Had he thoroughly freaked her out?  


“Feyre,” he said as he locked eyes with her. He couldn’t be imagining the spark between them, the tension was almost palpable. But he had been wrong before, so wrong that it almost cost him everything.  


“Thank you, so much for everything you’ve done for me,” she began, “But I can’t move in.”  


“Why not?” he asked. He could see the indecision in her eyes, and knew immediately that whatever she was about to say wasn’t the whole truth. Which meant that he wasn’t imagining that there was something between them. That scared Rhys far more than he cared to admit.  


“It’s just… too much,” Feyre said. Rhys waited for her to go on, but she didn’t offer anything else.  


Rhys decided it was time for him to step up. Mor was right, he wouldn’t get anything he wanted if he didn’t at least try to go after it. The worst that could happen was that she would say no, and it would hurt. But he had recovered from far, far worse than Feyre saying no.  


“Feyre…” he began, “Move in with me.”  


“Can we not talk about this?” she asked, “Not right now.”  


“Not right now,” Rhys agreed with a moment of hesitation, “But we will have to talk about it, Feyre.”  


“I know,” Feyre replied, “I just… so much is happening, and so fast. I love living with you and Mor, but moving in permanently is more than I’m ready for right now. Please, just give me some time to figure myself out.”  


“What do you want, Feyre?” Rhys asked. He probably shouldn’t have. She might disagree, but Feyre didn’t owe him _anything_ , least of all insight into her life. But it was a question that had been plaguing him for weeks now. She went to work, they ate lunch, he walked her home. She didn’t see anyone else, not even Mor had been able to get her to go out unless she absolutely had to.  


“I just said-”  


“And I’m going to give you time, Feyre,” he promised, “But I will ask again, and I want an answer next time.”

* * *

_What do you want?_ The question haunted Feyre more than she’d care to admit. What did she want? Out of life, from him, from anything? His guess was as good as anyone’s. There was a time when all she wanted was a comfortable life. After her mom died, Feyre had to start working to support her sisters and father, then she’d had enough so she left. Then all she wanted was an apartment that didn’t have black mold and a landlord that didn’t try to grab her ass every time she paid rent. Then she met Tamlin and she had the comfort she always dreamed of. But she wanted…  


She didn’t know what she wanted. She hadn’t wanted anything in a very long time. Wanting was a dangerous game to play. The last time she was truly wanted something, it ended with her slitting her wrists. Feyre really didn’t want a repeat of that performance, that was for sure.  


But right now… she had a job and roof over her head and friends. But there was a tug inside of her, the need for something more than what she was. Happiness, she realized. She was living and she was safe, but Feyre was far from happy. She didn’t even know what happy was anymore. This was a lot for her to be musing over with her morning coffee.  


Luckily (or unluckily, it remained to be seen) her existential spiral was interrupted by Cassian. How he had free reign to come and go as he pleased when it wasn’t his house, Feyre didn’t know. But she’d had enough run ins over the past month for it to not be awkward. Mostly. Until Cassian opened his mouth.  


“Oh shit,” Cass said as he spotted her.  


“Good morning to you, too,” she said wryly. There was no use denying she liked him. Not in an “I want you inside me as soon as possible” sense, more like a “there is something about you that is so like me that I can’t stay away”. Feyre didn’t know what that was, but she hadn’t hid from Cass in a long while in an attempt to find out. But so far, the man had remained as mysterious as he was that first night at Prythian, “Coffee?”  


“Please,” he replied, though he didn’t quite meet her eyes. Maybe he regretted their kiss more than she did. Best not to dwell.  


“We should talk about this,” Cassian said as she handed him his cup. Well, so much for not dwelling.  


“Talk,” Feyre said, not unkindly. There had been a part of her dying to know how he felt about that night. Did he regret it? Did he want it to happen again? Maybe knowing how Cass felt would help Feyre sort herself out. Disappointingly, he stayed silent.  


“Is there something you want to say or,” Feyre asked tentatively.  


“I’m thinking.”  


“I didn’t realize that was so hard for you,” she said. Cassian let out a loose laugh.  


“I just don’t want to say something stupid,” Cassian said, “Because, Feyre, we are in a dangerous territory.”  


“Are we now?” she asked with amusement.  


“Okay,” he said, “I’m going to be honest so please hear me out.”  


“Oh, this should be good.”  


“Shut up,” Cass replied not unkindly, “Okay, so we made out in Prythian and full disclosure, I was fully planning on taking you home. If you would have me, that is.” Dangerous territory, indeed. Feyre didn’t dare say that she absolutely would have said yes.  


“Then, Tamlin showed up. And you knew Mor. Which was super confusing because I know all of Mor’s friends, and Rhys knew you and your sisters were yelling at me? It was confusing time, and I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. But trust me, Rhys and Mor handed me my ass for letting Tamlin grab you, but it didn’t seem like my place and it looked like you had it handled and you seem like the kind of woman who’d want to fight her own battles. So first off, if you were offended that I didn’t fight for your honor, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let Tamlin lay a hand on you.”  


“I wasn’t offended,” Feyre replied after a minute, “I was also confused. I didn’t know you all knew Tamlin and I didn’t know you were a friend of Mor’s.”  


“While we’re at it, I’m sorry for climbing into bed with you the other night. I was fully expecting it to be empty,”  


Feyre cringed at the memory and how she’d screamed. She had better get control of her panic, or she was liable to get someone killed, “Again, forgiven,” Feyre replied. Cassian looked away from her, “That’s not all you have to say, is it?”  


“Okay,” Cassian said, “This is the part where you might want to hit me. But before you do, remember the Rhys threw me out of your bed so hard it left bruises, so I think I’ve been punished enough.”  


Feyre almost laughed, “Try me,” she said.  


“I’m not sure if I like you or not,” he said. Feyre’s eyebrows shot up in incredulity, “Okay, you’re mad. What I mean, Feyre, is I know I like you as a person, the very little you’ve let me see of you.”  


“Okay?”  


“But, we met in a rather scandalous way,” Cassian continued, “So I’m not sure if I like you any more than that, or if it was just low club lights and seven shots of tequila talking.”  


“You’d had seven shots?” Feyre asked, “How were you coordinated enough to feel me up?”  


“Focus, Feyre,” he said, “I don’t know about you, but I have had very confusing feelings every time I’ve seen you because I can’t stop thinking about if I actually want to kiss you again.”  


“It’s not just you.” Feyre said after a moment. There was no going back now, “Where does that leave us?”  


“I take it you’re not moving out today?” he asked, then when Feyre shook her head, “Then I would like us to be friends. Because I think we’re a lot alike, if we actually took the time to get to know each other. But there will always be a part of me wondering if there could be something more.”  


“Let’s do it again,” the words were out of Feyre’s mouth before she could stop them. Cassian looked at her like she’d suggested they go to the moon. She felt a blush start to creep up her neck, but she had already started digging this hole so she might as well see it through, “Let’s kiss again, fully sober and not surrounded by sweaty strangers.”  


“You’re serious?”  


“You said it yourself, we’ll always wonder if there was something real between us. Let’s kiss again.”  


“Okay.”  


“Okay?”  


“You’re the one who suggested it!”  


“You’re the one who started this whole stupid conversation!” Feyre would rather be literally anywhere in the world than right here. But Cassian held her gaze and stood up. In a few steps, he was right in front of her but Feyre couldn’t bring herself to move. As if sensing her hesitation, Cassian grabbed her gently by the shoulders and guided her up until they were face to face. This was stupid. So, so stupid. Cassian searched her eyes for refusal, but he found none. Feyre shook her head at her own stupidity, but reached up on her toes until their lips connected.  


It was…  


Bad.  


So, so bad. But it was only a peck. Cassian was slow to respond when Feyre opened her mouth, but if this was worth doing (it wasn’t, but they had already started) then it was worth doing right. He wrapped his arms around her until she was pressed flush against him and her hands grabbed tufts of his hair. Their tongues mingled, but it was simply perfunctory. There was no passion, none of the spark that had been there at Prythian. Feyre couldn’t tell if she was relieved or not. She was just about to pull away when heard the door open.  


And an incredulous voice ask, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, friends, I went on a small but much needed vacation. Pro: It gave me a lot of time to think through a Feysand fic. Con: I didn't actually think about THIS Feysand fic. So the next few chapters of this is a mess, but I already have something in the works once this AU is done. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it is one of my favorites so far! Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning this chapter for sexual assault

“Mor, this is not what it looks like,” Cassian pleaded, but she was already stalking towards him. They both looked embarrassed, but Rhys couldn’t actually figure out what this was supposed to be if not _exactly what it looked like_. He was frozen to the spot. Cassian and Feyre. Again. Again, Rhys had been so stupid to think she was interested in him.  


“Mor, stop,” Feyre said. Mor had murder in her eyes, but they softened when they looked at Feyre, “It was my idea.”  


“What did you do to her?” Mor accused with a look at Cass.  


“Mor!” Feyre said again, “Honestly. We were having breakfast and… god this was such a stupid idea.”  


“Agreed,” Cassian said, but he was laughing. Then Feyre was laughing too. Rhys kind of hated that they were laughing together, but he was also kind of enchanted by her mirth. Feyre Archeron was a confusing woman.  


“Care to clue the rest of us in on what the fuck this is?” Mor asked with none of the amusement her friends were sharing.  


“Okay,” Cass said, “We couldn’t figure out if we actually liked each other at Prythian or if we were just drunk. So we decided to test it out.”  


“And?” Rhys asked, fearing for the answer.  


“Just drunk,” Feyre said immediately and Rhys’ heart unclenched and let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.  


“I was actually going to say I think I’m in love with you,” Cassian replied, then at Feyre’s startled gaze, “Kidding. It was like if I’d kissed Rhys.”  


“Rude, but point taken,” Rhys replied dryly.  


“I’m too pretty for you, and you know it.”  


“And too stupid,” Rhys agreed, “And arrogant. Why would you assume I’d want to kiss you?”  


“Anyways,” Feyre interrupted, “Since there is obviously no chemistry between us, does this mean I can stop hiding in my room when you’re over?”  


“You’ve been doing that?” Cassian asked. He seemed to be genuinely ashamed that he’d been the cause of her hiding.  


“A few times,” she admitted.  


“Well, Miss Archeron, it’s time we put a stop to that,” he looped a friendly arm around her, “Because I’ve just decided you’re my new best friend.”

* * *

Rhys thought Cassian and Feyre hanging out together might be the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Also the best. It was confusing.  


The fact was, Cass and Feyre were so alike that Rhys rather thought they had created a monster by encouraging the friendship. Mor thought they were insufferable and said in no uncertain terms if Cass ever made a move on her again, she would nail his balls to the wall and no amount of Feyre and Cass assuring her there was nothing between them made the threats stop.  


But still, it didn’t seem like there was any lingering romantic tension between them much to Rhys’ relief. He wouldn’t have tried to stop it, but it might have broken his heart. Cassian knew that, and probably wouldn’t try to pursue Feyre even if he wanted to. It seemed Cassian was more irritated by the insinuation that Feyre would never find _him_ attractive in return than the threats themselves.  


That didn’t stop jealously from bubbling up in Rhys’ stomach every time Cass threw an arm over her shoulders, or when Feyre would rest her feet in his lap. Not to mention that fact that they had kissed twice now and Rhys couldn’t even bring himself to give her a high five most days. It just seemed so _easy_ for him and it made Rhys furious. Then he would get mad at himself, because Cassian had not had an easy life. Rhys had his mother and Mor, Cassian had no one before Rhys’ family took him in. He deserved a friend like Feyre who he could joke and be light with, not to mention she deserved the same thing.  


But still, Rhys felt envy tug at him. Not just that Cass had easy chemistry with Feyre, but that Rhys didn’t seem to have easy chemistry with anyone ever. Living with Mor and Cass for most of his life had given Rhys a complex. Everyone loved them. They were the life of the party, the perfect friend, the best partner. Rhys was… Rhys. Very few people would say he was a bad person, but no one would ever call him nice or charismatic the same way they would for Mor and Cass. When Az and Amren came into the picture, Rhys had been kind of relieved he was no longer the most unapproachable member of their odd circle. Maybe he was an asshole sometimes.  


At least Cass hadn’t encroached on his daily lunches with Feyre. Yet. It was Feyre’s lunch and she was free to spend it with anyone she wanted, but Rhys was elated she continued to choose him. Especially after what a prick he had been the last time they had a serious talk. _What do you want?_ He never should have asked. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer since it certainly wouldn’t be _You, Rhys_. Only in his dreams did she say that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.  


And he wanted her a ridiculous amount. It seemed like every moment of every day he was thinking of her. He started noting her preferences in food and stocked their fridge accordingly. He was starting to think of it as _their_ fridge. They hadn’t broached the moving in topic since that night, but every time Rhys thought of how he had point blank asked her to stay he got itchy. It had been a very long time since Rhys felt this way and he seemed to be blundering it at every turn.  


To Feyre’s credit, she never mocked him. If anything, Rhys thought she found it vaguely endearing. In any case, they had found an odd sort of balance as roommates and Rhys would be lying if he said he wasn’t dreading the day she’d move out for good. But the more time they spent together the farther that day seemed to be.  


It was a Friday night like any other that Rhys came home to find Feyre painting in his living room. And it was not a dainty water color, there was a five by five fucking canvas blocking the couch and Feyre in a ratty t-shirt and paint in her hair. She was so focused on whatever she was doing that Rhys had a precious moment to just observe. She looked full and empty at the same time, like she was feeling everything in the world except all that had weighed on her in the month she’d been here. She looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Rhys must have had the most lovesick grin on his face when she bothered to look up.  


“Oh.” Was all she said. Feyre sometimes got this look like Rhys had caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to. He knew she didn’t feel entirely at home here yet, and they were still toeing a line of what she could and could not do without asking him first. Of course, Rhys never expected her to ask permission for anything, but he figured it was a side effect of Tamlin, “Sorry, Nesta dropped off the rest of my stuff and this was there and it seemed a waste not to finish it. I can do this not in your living room.”  


“Please, Feyre, continue,” Rhys assured her as he strode into the kitchen, “Want a drink?”  


Her relief was almost palpable and it made Rhys’ stomach twist. He couldn’t imagine living in a home where he had to ask permission for his hobbies. He made yet another promise to himself to never make her feel the way Tamlin had.  


“More wine?” she asked. Rhys nodded and brought the bottle out and another glass for himself. He stopped just short of the canvas, unsure if she’d want him to see it, but she ushered him forward. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was nonchalant about it. But Rhys watched the way she sucked in a breath as he approached and steeled herself to whatever his reaction would be. But when Rhys looked at it, he saw the night sky. Not a picture of it, but the night sky itself in all its vastness and mystery. He swallowed a gasp at the deep purples of dusk fading into the deep blue of night and finishing in an endless black with stars dashing across the sky. At the very bottom were the silhouettes of two people looking up and though they didn’t have faces, he could feel their wonder.  


“I call it _Starfall_ ,” Feyre said carefully. Starfall. Rhys couldn’t imagine it being named anything else.  


“It’s beautiful,” he murmured in reverence. When he glanced back at Feyre a blush had creeped up her cheeks and small smile was playing on her lips.  


“It’s not quite finished yet,” she said.  


“Could I…” Rhys began, “Could I watch? You paint, I mean.”  


“You want to watch me paint?”  


“I want to spend time with you, and you happen to be painting,” he reasoned as he poured the wine, “And I would very much like to watch you paint.”  


“Okay,” she said. She turned uncertainly back to the painting and Rhys perched on the arm of the couch. Neither was sure what to do with this new situation. They had been so careful not to step on each other’s toes in the past weeks. Their alone time was mostly kept to their lunch and walks home, then Feyre would go to her room for the rest of the night. The apartment suddenly felt very small. Rhys didn’t know what to do other than drink.  


Feyre seemed to have the same idea, and soon the both of them were properly tipsy. Feyre’s strokes were getting sloppy and she occasionally would curse under breath and Rhys was as absorbed in her as ever but didn’t have the stability of mind to hide it like he normally did. He couldn’t guess how much more Feyre had to do. Every time he thought she was done, Feyre would add another layer and Rhys would question how he thought _Starfall_ was complete without it. How in the world had she ever stopped painting? It looked to Rhys like she had quite literally been born to make beautiful things but maybe that was just the wine talking.  


“You know,” Feyre said after a while, “For all my talking to Mor and like, literally living here, I have no clue what either of you do.”  


“We own a record label,” he said, “Illyrian Night.”  


“You’re shitting me,” Feyre almost dropped her brush.  


“No?” Rhys stammered.  


“You produce some of my favorite bands,” she continued, “The Mortal Queens, Valeris, Tarquin.”  


“Really?”  


“God, I knew you must do something fabulous to be able to afford this place, but Illyrian Night. No wonder you know Tamlin. I can’t believe Mor didn’t tell me. I was wearing a Tarquin shirt when we met.”  


“That’s probably why,” Rhys said, “She’s had a lot of friends use her.”  


“Oh god, I hope she knows I’d never do that.” Feyre said, “I should call and tell her.”  


Rhys had the phone out of her hands before she could do anything. If she called Mor, she’d either be pissed Rhys got Feyre drunk or she would come to join them. Both options were equally unsavory. Feyre made a few pathetic attempts to jump for the phone, but Rhys had at least six inches on her and it was useless even if she was sober which she decidedly was not. She quickly gave up and plopped down on the floor, “I’m not going to get anything else done tonight,” she declared as she grabbed what had become their second bottle of wine for the night, “Sit with me.” Rhys obliged, “tell me about the business.”  


“Well, my parents built it. It was mostly my mom’s baby. Dad took care of all the actual business parts, but she had the passion and the talent.” Rhys cursed how easy the words rolled off his tongue, but he couldn’t help but feel his secrets were safe with Feyre. Maybe someday she’d feel the same.  


“Had?”  


“My parents died,” he explained, “My mom when I was really little, my dad when I was 18. I didn’t really want the business, but Mor did and my mom loved it so much… so here I am. A CEO.”  


“Wow,” Feyre marveled, unable or unwilling to say anything else.  


“I still don’t know much about you either,” Rhys began.  


“There’s not much worth knowing.”  


Rhys furrowed his brow but couldn’t formulate a response. He cursed the wine for making his head swim and his tongue tie. He wanted to know everything about her, he realized. Absolutely everything. Her favorite color, her first heartbreak and everything in between.  


“You’re looking at me weird,” Feyre said, “A thought for a thought?”  


“I like you,” Rhys replied before he could stop himself, his accursed tongue loosening again just to betray him. There it was, there no taking it back now. Feyre didn’t flinch like he was expecting her to, but rather looked forward in concentration.  


“I should’ve realized how bad Tamlin was for me sooner,” she said. Rhys wanted to make her reply to his bombshell, but that wasn’t how the game worked.  


“I haven’t liked anyone in a very long time,” Rhys offered.  


“I…” Feyre began, “Nope. That one’s a story for another day.”  


“What?” Rhys asked incredulously, “I tell you I like you and you won’t give me something equally revealing?” He was trying to go for a joke but he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice.  


“You can’t tell Mor,” Feyre said.  


“I won’t,” he promised. His playful demeanor was gone, whatever she was going to say was serious and deeply personal apparently. Something she’d never even told Mor. That pleased Rhys more than he’d care to admit.  


“So I told you I was in a bad car accident,” Feyre began, “And it wasn’t my fault, but the person who died… her mom was convinced it was. She was so mad when I wasn’t charged with anything she started to stalk me.”  


“What?”  


“For almost a year, this woman would be everywhere. I thought she was going to kill me. I had a restraining order, but she didn’t care. She wanted me dead. She wanted me dead instead of her daughter.  


“Sorry, I’m getting off track,” Feyre said, “My thought was that a lot of the time I wish I was dead instead of her.”  


Rhys could only look at her in mute horror. He thought Tamlin had been the worst of her demons, but he realized she had a whole life of pain he knew nothing about.  


“Your turn,” she said quietly, not letting him voice any of his revelations.  


“I can’t imagine a world without you in it.” Rhys said.  


For a moment, watching her eyes fill up with tears, Rhys was sure he’d said the wrong thing. Just like that, their new found friendship was gone and she was retreating back into the shell she’d hid in when she first got here. But instead, Rhys saw the corners of her mouth rise in a small smile.  


“Do you mean that?” she asked.  


“Yes,” Rhys considered his words carefully. He was in very dangerous territory and he could not- would not- misstep, “I’m very glad that I met you, Feyre.”  


“I’m glad that I met you, too, Rhys,” she said as her tears began to fall. Without thinking about it, Rhys reached over and wiped a tear on her cheek away. Her eyes immediately widened at the contact but she didn’t move away. In fact, she turned until she was facing him straight on. So close, Rhys could count her freckles if he wanted to.  


“Your turn,” she whispered as she placed her hands absentmindedly in the space between them, her fingers just brushing his knees. The contact was slight but it still made him shiver.  


“I’m thinking,” Rhys wracked his brain for something equally personal to say, but all he found was Feyre. All he ever found was Feyre, every moment of every day. He couldn’t bring himself to mind, “I wish you thought about me as much as I think about you.”  


“I do.”  


“Not possible,” Rhys argued.  


“What do you think about?” her voice was barely above a whisper. Rhys was suddenly aware that his other hand had climbed up without his permission and he was cupping her face. Feyre didn’t seem to mind at all.  


Where could he even begin? He thought so many things, some of them would properly scare her away. He thought about her smile, so beautiful that first upward pull of her lips was that Rhys had been aching to see a real smile; the kind that couldn’t be hidden, that couldn’t help but shine. He thought about the tattoo he’d seen in Prythian that he hadn’t even gotten a glance even though she lived her. He thought about those damned leather bands she always wore that were now brushing against his skin, the friction giving just enough to tease him but not enough to provide any sort of satisfaction. Instead, he said, “I think about your hair,” He said, that seemed safe enough, “I think about how much I want to run my hands through it.”  


“I think about making you laugh,” Feyre replied immediately. Who was he kidding? There was nothing safe about this game, “I don’t even remember what I said, but it was that first day I ate lunch with you. I said something and you laughed and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I ever heard. And I was so confused, because Tamlin always told me I wasn’t funny. But you laughed and I realized almost everything Tamlin said to make me feel bad about myself was bullshit.”  


“What else did he say?” Rhys wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.  


“He said I wasn’t a good artist. He said the gallery was a waste of time since he’d support me once we got married. He said I’d never be able to live without him.”  


“I want to kill him,” Rhys confessed, “Any time I think about what he did to you, I get so angry and I can’t find an outlet for it.”  


“I wish it had been you instead of Cassian.”  


Rhys thought he stopped breathing. He was all too aware of every point of contact there was between their bodies. Rhys craved more but was so afraid of pushing whatever this was. As if reading his mind, Feyre sat up until she was eye level. She ever so slowly leaned forward, testing that waters as if Rhys wouldn’t give her anything if she asked. Rhys closed his eyes and let her lead.  


And lead she did. Ever so softly, Feyre’s lips touched Rhys’ in a chaste kiss. Rhys was sure now that he wasn’t breathing, but Feyre was merciless. She moved her lips against his with agonizing slowness as her hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Rhys couldn’t help but let out a groan, and Feyre used the opportunity to urge his mouth open. Rhys responded in kind and invaded her mouth with his tongue tasting and exploring. He noted vaguely that if he died like this, he would be happy. He opened his mouth wider and moved his hands from her cheeks to wrapping around her back. The kiss became less coordinated and far more passionate, and soon Rhys was on his back with Feyre straddling him.  


And then it wasn’t her anymore.  


Just like that, soft golden brown hair became fiery red. Rhys’ eyes snapped open, but he didn’t truly see. His mind and his body were fighting. This wasn’t Amarantha. This was Feyre. Feyre who he liked, Feyre who had been dreaming about. His body didn’t listen and instead froze as he was forcefully shoved back into that night two years ago when Rhys found out she had betrayed him.  


_Rhys had started drinking early to numb the pain Amarantha had created. She had no idea the mess she was walking into, but one look in Rhys’ eyes clued her in. The explosion he had been expecting didn’t come, and instead Amarantha urged him backwards until she was pinned beneath him and was too drunk to fight her off._  


_Their problem had always been that Amarantha thought sex would fix everything, and most of the time it was easier to give in. but he didn’t give in, he murmured_ No, no. _against her lips, but she didn’t listen. She. Didn’t. Listen. She wasn’t trying to fix him, she was punishing him. She was poisoning him. She didn’t say anything when she was done and instead left the apartment and that was the last time he ever saw her._  


And now here he was, Amarantha pinning him down and screams dying in his throat. _It’s not her_ , but his mind was no longer listening. His body, it seemed, finally realized he wasn’t powerless and in an instant he was throwing Amarantha off of him.  


It wasn’t until Feyre hit the easel behind her that Rhys realized what he had done.  


She landed hard, too hard, her head hitting the ground. She sat up slowly and looked ar Rhys then at _Starfall_ , which had crashed face down on the floor. Apologies died on Rhys’ lips. How could he explain this without revealing _everything_? Feyre didn’t seem to have the words either. They spent a long moment just staring at each other until Rhys registered the tears streaming down his face.  


“Rhys?” she said slowly.  


“I’m so sorry,” Rhys said, his voice finally cracking. And then he was back in his own room, leaving Feyre with a mess of paint and feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, sorry for the delay but the next few chapters have been fighting me a ridiculous amount and I needed to sort them out. Full disclosure, a lot of Feyre's dialogue this chapter in inspired by Begin Again by Taylor Swift because I think it is the perfect Feysand song. Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Everything had happened faster than Feyre’s wine and kiss slowed brain could think. One second, she had been leaving languid open mouth kisses on Rhys’ neck and the next she was sprawled on the floor and her painting ruined.  


She was hurt, and angry, but one look at Rhys made anything that wasn’t overwhelming concern vanish. His eyes shone with shame and confusion and then he was gone before Feyre could do anything. She had spent enough nights locked in her own room that she didn’t dare force him to talk to her. So instead she turned to salvage her painting. _Starfall_ was far from her best work, but it was also the only thing she had painted in more than a year and terror gripped her as she flipped it over. She let out a shaky breath as she assessed the damage. Some smearing and one of the edges had torn, but it was nothing she couldn’t fix.  


Rhys on the other hand…  


She had been the one to kiss him, but he hadn’t pulled away. No, he definitely hadn’t pulled away until he had thrown her. Her head hurt from where it had hit the floor, but Feyre suspected her world was spinning from something else entirely.  


Because if she showed him her heart then he just threw it back… Feyre wasn’t sure she’d recover. But before whatever _that_ was, they had been sharing a moment. They had shared a whole evening of intimate moments and Feyre refused to believe that that meant nothing. He said he liked her, and Feyre chose to believe that.  


But what could she do? Feyre had spent enough nights locked in her own room despite Rhys’ attempts to draw her out to ask the same of him. She couldn’t force her way in, she just had to wait him out.  


But it turns out she didn’t have to. Feyre decided not to meet him in the café for lunch, how could she after last night? But he came to find her, all guarded smiles and shy apologies and that was all they spoke of it. If Feyre were a less damaged person, she might have believed it. But like called to like, and Rhys was every bit as broken as she was. The difference was he was hiding it behind a very impressive mask, but that mask was cracking. Feyre was sure she wasn’t the only one starting to see through it. Eventually Rhys wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. And if he was as similar to Feyre as she thought he was, when he got cornered it would get ugly.  


But right now… He had fought for Feyre. He fought harder than she ever thought he would. More importantly, he had given her space when she needed it. It had been a bad night, but Feyre thought their relationship was stronger than one bad night. She hoped it was. And she owed it to him to forgive whatever had come over him last night, because he had been forgiving her transgressions for months.  


So she waited. She didn’t push no matter how many times she craved an explanation. They had their lunches. He walked her home. She went back to her room to do whatever it is she did. Rinse. Repeat. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she went to Cass. She loved Mor, but Feyre was beginning to suspect whatever Rhys was hiding from her, Mor was unwillingly complacent in. Any time they hung out, the conversation would inevitably loop back to Rhys, and Feyre had no idea what Mor actually wanted from her, but it was something Feyre couldn’t do when was unwilling to try.  


“This is going to kill Rhys when he finds out,” Mor said the first time she and Cass went out alone. Feyre didn’t disagree, but Rhys had pulled away first and Feyre had to do something. Cassian was her friend, Rhys would understand. That didn’t stop Cass from mercilessly teasing her about it every chance he got. For all his teasing though, he was proving to be an excellent confidant.  


In the days Rhys was absent, Feyre learned more about his brother than she ever thought she would. Feyre couldn’t believe she once thought of him as a sexy, mysterious stranger because he was an absolute _dork_. Feyre was starting to see the humanity in this whole family. With it, she also figured out why she was drawn to Cass in particular.  


He grew up much like her. Poor, struggling every day to put food on the table. Living like that never leaves you no matter how well off you were now (in both of their cases, not very since both refused any help from Rhys or Mor). And god, they both loved the Nights, but they had never known how it felt to go hungry. To not see your parents for days at a time because they couldn’t take time off (In Feyre’s case, she was the one working, which horrified Cassian all the more since not even in their darkest days had his mother let him work full time). Cass and Feyre had a deep understanding of each other that no one else got, and Feyre found that she liked having someone like him.  


“Why does Az avoid me like the plague?” Feyre asked one day over a beer (Friday night cocktails had become their _thing_ , Mor thought it was insufferable).  


“He doesn’t avoid you,” It was bullshit and Feyre called him on it. Ever since that first night Feyre had walked in on him in the apartment, their conversations had been few, brief and awkward. If Feyre didn’t get along so well with Amren (she was scary, but an excellent conversationalist once you actually got up the nerve to talk to her), she might think Rhys’ circle just didn’t want to have to deal with her. But no, it was definitely an Azriel problem and an Azriel problem alone. Feyre wasn’t so vain as to think she was universally liked, but she hadn’t given him a reason to hate her other than existing.  


“Okay, fine,” Cass said, “Az doesn’t like you because he has seen Rhys get hurt too many times before.”  


“You all say the vaguest shit,” Feyre groaned, “Does that come with being a Night? Is it contagious?”  


“Laugh all you want,” Cass replied, “But that’s the reason. He doesn’t trust people who get close to Mor and Rhys because too many people have used them then thrown them away.”  


“He doesn’t even know me.”  


“Have you given him a chance?”  


“Has he given me a chance?”  


“Fair enough,” Cassian allowed as he signaled for another round, “When are you going to tell me what happened with Rhys?”  


Then when Feyre stayed silent, “Come on Feyre, a question for a question. You asked me a hard one.”  


“Not as hard as this.”  


“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to answer it.”  


“Fine, but you can’t tell anyone,” Feyre said before she took a long pull from her drink. Cass looked at her with amusement, but that dwindled as she told him the whole awkward story.  


“Huh.”  


“That’s all you’re giving me for this?” Feyre asked incredulously.  


“It’s not-”  


“I swear to god, Cass if you say it’s not your story to tell I’ll throw you out the window.”  


Cassian only shrugged, “It isn’t,” he said, “But I have a feeling Rhys will decide soon it’s your story to learn.”

* * *

Rhys was doing his best to act normal when Mor came bursting through the door with a very irritated looking Az striding behind her, “Feyre Archeron come out here right now!” she called to the apartment. Rhys wasn’t even sure Feyre was here, that was how out of touch he was with her these days. He really only had himself to blame, he had pushed her away (literally and figuratively) and instead of facing his problems head on, Rhys decided to be a coward and pretend like everything was fine. He’d given her nothing more than a half assed apology that first day and her floored look flooded him with guilt. He’d half expected her not to show up the day after, but come 1 PM, there she was at their normal table. It seemed like she was giving him the gift of patience just as he’d given her when she needed, and Rhys was incredibly grateful. The problem was that Rhys wasn’t entirely sure he actually wanted the space. He owed her so much more than Feyre ever owed him. He had scared her, _hurt her_ , like he swore he never would. He promised himself he’d never be Tamlin, yet here he was.  


Rhys had been drunk that night, but not too drunk to not remember ever word she had said. She had told him things not even Mor knew, and Rhys hadn’t trusted her in return. It made him feel more guilty than he ever thought possible. She had been hurt and controlled, even stalked, for years. And Rhys couldn’t tell her anything that happened with Amarantha. He was such a coward.  


Rhys’ internal diatribe was cut short by Feyre coming out of her bedroom wearing a ratty tank top and a scowl that almost made him laugh, “What, Morrigan?”  


“Don’t you ‘Morrigan’ me,” she snapped. If Rhys didn’t know her better, he would think she was actually angry, but he could see the mischief glimmering in her eyes. God help them all, but Feyre especially, “You are in so much trouble.”  


“What have I done now?” Feyre asked warily, seemingly clueing in to Mor’s mood.  


“I was talking to Elain.”  


“You talk to Elain?” she looked properly panicked.  


“And she told me the funniest thing,” Mor steamrolled.  


“Okay, I’m sorry.” Feyre said.  


“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”  


“Yes I do,” Feyre replied, “But please don’t say it here.” She cast a guarded look at Rhys first then Cass and Amren who were both watching from the couch with interest.  


“Oh, Fey,” Mor purred, “You are not getting out of this one.”  


“Does anyone want to clue us in on what the fuck is going on?” Amren asked with a slight edge to her voice, never one for secrets.  


“Feyre seemed to forget to mention that her birthday was _last week_.” Mor revealed triumphantly as Feyre cringed.  


“Last week?” Cass cried, “Feyre, how could you?”  


Last week was the night everything went wrong. If Rhys had done that to her on birthday… he needed to explain himself. But in front of their friends as definitely not the time. Especially since he was so distracted by how adorable her reddening cheeks were. He could see her rose tattoo peeking out over her tank top and he wondered for the millionth time how far down her back it crawled.  


“I don’t like birthdays,” she muttered, “Please don’t do anything.”  


“Oh, you’re so getting a party.”  


“Please, Mor,” she almost begged, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but please don’t do anything.” She looked so afraid and Rhys was dying to know why. But it was yet another secret he didn’t deserve to get. 

* * *

Her birthday. She had forgotten her own fucking birthday. Feyre was relieved and horrified at the same time. Because her birthday last year had been the day everything went wrong. Feyre played absentmindedly with her leather bands. She hadn’t realized it was her birthday until after she’d made the first cut and by then it was too late. She would’ve laughed at the irony if she hadn’t been bleeding out. But somehow in this house she had forgotten the day she hit rock bottom. The days she forgot were getting more frequent and that scared Feyre more than she cared to admit. Because she was eventually going to have to leave this place where she was healing and that almost broke her heart.  


She and Mor were alone in the apartment now and Mor had finally left her alone about why she didn’t want a party. Rhys, Cass, Amren and Az had gone god knew where. Feyre didn’t ask after them, anything that concerned Az was definitely a place she didn’t belong. Her talk with Cass had helped, but she still didn’t like the looks Az cast her way every so often. The closer she got to the others, the more he seemed to pull away and Feyre didn’t know how to stop it. Even when she moved out of this house, Cass and Mor at least had become lifelong friends.  


But Rhys…  


She didn’t know what the fuck she and Rhys were.  


She tried to wait him out, she really did, but it had been almost a week and the normalcy they were faking made Feyre want to scream. They were trying to outdo each other on how fucking fine they were even though Feyre’s head still ached from how she had landed and Rhys looked like he was about to cry every time he glanced her way. They deserved each other, it seemed.  


Feyre hadn’t given him everything, but she had revealed much more than he ever had. It made Feyre furious and she couldn’t even tell him because it made her the worst kind of hypocrite. She was in the middle of a good brooding session when the doorbell rang. Feyre was closest to the door and she almost screamed when she opened it.  


It was Lucien. But that’s not what scared her.  


Standing a step behind him was Tamlin. Just being face to face with him turned Feyre into the scared girl she was when she was with him.  


“Who is it?” Mor called from the kitchen.  


“My sister,” Feyre lied. She wasn’t quite able to stop her voice from quaking, “I’ll be right back.” Feyre closed to door behind her even though every nerve in her body screamed at her to run back inside and lock the door. But despite her heart hammering in her chest, Feyre was done being a coward. So she shut the door and suddenly they were alone.  


They all regarded each other for a long moment. One look at Lucien told Feyre that he had been the one to lead them here.  


“Why?” Feyre asked him.  


“It seems Lucien remembered where his loyalties lie,” Tamlin drawled. Lucien opened his mouth to defend himself, but Feyre was too angry to care.  


“How could you?” Feyre asked. Her voice cracked, damn it.  


“I’m sorry,” was all he said. Tamlin shot him a look that shut him up. Whatever Tamlin had on him, it must be bad. There was no other explanation after their dinner last week.  
“What do you want, Tamlin?” Feyre asked with far more courage than she actually had.  


“I didn’t believe Lucien when he told me,” Tamlin said, “I couldn’t believe Feyre- my Feyre- would be whoring herself out to the Nights. I guess I don’t know you like I thought I did.”  


“No, you don’t,” Feyre didn’t even flinch. She’d been called much worse than a whore. Tamlin’s words couldn’t hurt her after what he’d done. But he wasn’t there to hurt, she realized, at least not right away. He was playing with her, like cat with his paw on a mouse’s tail. This was his threat. _I have you now and I can get you whenever I want_. How many times had Tamlin told her that he always got what he wanted? How many times had Feyre underestimated him? How many more people would get hurt before Feyre came back? She couldn’t let that happen. She had to think of a way out of this.  


Feyre didn’t get to make whatever foolish choice she thought would save her, because suddenly someone was throwing Tamlin back. Feyre hardly believed it, because the person shielding her from Tamlin wasn’t Rhys or Mor, or even Cass.  


It was Az.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not my best work, but it's been a week and I owed you all something. Let me know what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

Az was down the hall before Rhys could tear his eyes away from Feyre. Tamlin had found her. _How had he found her_? They had been so careful, but not careful enough, it seemed.  


One good look at Lucien’s horrified but guilty eyes gave Rhys his answer. He had sold Feyre out. By the looks of things, not entirely purposefully, but it didn’t really matter. Feyre had trusted him with _everything_ , and he had betrayed her. Rhys eyes were swimming in red with his rage at the other man. Because here he was, watching Feyre cower when he promised she would never have to see Tamlin again. It wasn’t Rhys’ fault, but he couldn’t help but feeling like failed her too. He should have protected her better. He should’ve done a lot of things differently.  


But it seemed like the one coming to her rescue now wasn’t Rhys, or even Cassian. No, this time it was Az of all people and he was standing between Tamlin and Feyre. Rhys knew firsthand how terrifying Az’s cold anger was, but Tamlin didn’t even flinch. Rhys finally made his legs work and was by her side in an instant.  


“Get the hell out of here,” He growled. He didn’t even look at Feyre, but where he expected to feel her relax, her anxiety was going haywire. She didn’t want this. Why? Why wouldn’t she want this? But Rhys took a step away from Tamlin anyways. It didn’t matter why she didn’t want Tamlin’s ass kicked, she didn’t so he wouldn’t.  


“First Cassian and Rhys, and now I guess you’ve moved on yet again,” Tamlin mused, “At this rate, Feyre, you’ll be through his inner circle by New Year’s.”  


Az practically hissed, but Feyre’s voice was deathly calm, “Leave, Tamlin, you have no control over me anymore.”  


Tamlin had the nerve to look surprised at how even her voice was but he didn’t back down. This was going to get dangerous and there was nothing Rhys could do to stop it, he realized. Tamlin had finally lost it, Feyre had unhinged him to the point where there was no coming back. That put Feyre (and everyone else Rhys cared about) in grave danger. Rhys had never felt so useless in his life.  


“You’re all talk, Feyre, always have been,” Tamlin said. His voice dripped with sweet poison and Rhys was surprised Feyre didn’t flinch. How she’d stayed with him for so long, Rhys would never figure out, but it seemed to make her immune to his venom.  


“Maybe,” she allowed, “But I’m not alone anymore.” Rhys wasn’t imagining how Lucien flinched. Good. He’d brought Tamlin to his doorstep, let him feel every bit of Feyre’s malice.  


“You can’t hide behind the Nights forever,” Tamlin said, “And the moment they slip up, I will be there.”  


Before Az could stop him, Tamlin had Feyre pressed against the wall. Rhys thought for a terrifying moment that he would kiss her, but instead he was whispering something in her ear and Feyre stilled in mute horror. Tamlin’s eyes flitted to Rhys for just a moment, and Feyre paled. Then he was gone, and Feyre’s knees buckled. 

* * *

Feyre didn’t have time to wonder why the hell it had been Az to first step in. Everything had gotten out of control so fast that Feyre was becoming an observer in the soap opera that had become her life. Feyre only wondered for a moment how he’d found her before she saw Lucien trailing behind him.  


Lucien.  


Even after everything she had told him, Lucien had gone back to Tamlin. And he’d sold her out. Feyre would have cried if she didn’t feel so empty. She had stupidly believed that Tamlin wasn’t going to be a problem anymore, that she had gotten out and he’d just be a terrible footnote in the rest of her life. She’d been so stupid. She knew Tamlin always got what he wanted, and for some reason he still wanted her. She wasn’t defenseless, but she was damn near close. Because he was right, she couldn’t hide behind Rhys forever. It would be a prison of her own making and what kind of life would that be? Rhys looked at her like he could see every thought flitting through her head but she couldn’t talk to him about this, not right now.  


“Wow, who died?” Mor asked when they grimly entered the apartment again. Feyre almost laughed despite herself.  


“Did you know?” Cass asked.  


“Know what?”  


“I didn’t tell her,” Feyre replied.  


“Didn’t tell me _what_?”  


“That was Tamlin,” Rhys said. Mor was on her feet in an instant.  


“Feyre Archeron,” Mor almost yelled, “You told me it was your sister.”  


“Yes, Mor, I lied about my asshole ex fiancé tracking me down, I’m sorry.”  


“Are you okay?” Mor asked as she took Feyre in. Feyre gave a small nod before Mor crushed her in a hug. The action was sweet, but her eyes said _we will talk about this later_. Feyre owed her at least honesty after everything she had done. But right now, Feyre was too exhausted to do much of anything.  


She tried to go to her room with no other preamble, but Rhys easily caught up to her. She didn’t have the energy to ask him to leave.  


“What the hell was that?” he asked. Just like that, it was as if the past week hadn’t happened. It was like there had been no fallout from their kiss. It was almost like he actually cared about her instead of freaking out then shutting her out. Feyre didn’t have the energy for these games.  


“Are we still friends?” Feyre asked, “I wasn’t sure after you threw me then ignored me for a week.”  


“Feyre,” he sounded wounded but she didn’t care. Instead, he took a small glance at the door to ensure that no one could hear them then took a step towards her. She took a step back, “Feyre.”  


“What do you want from me, Rhys?” she asked hopelessly. He had asked her the same thing and Feyre hadn’t had an answer. It seemed like the question floored him as much as it had her. She realized suddenly that there was so much between them. Too much between them to ever really work. There was too much baggage and too much history, too much that neither of them would ever share. They could never trust enough to share their own particular burdens.  


“I want you to be honest with me,” Rhys said.  


“You want _me_ to be honest?” Feyre asked incredulously, “Why is it that I’m the only one not allowed to have secrets?”  


“You don’t understand-”  


“You don’t let me!” she yelled, not caring that the others could most definitely hear her.  


“You want honesty?” he asked his voice almost matching hers, “Having Tamlin so close to me and my family after everything he’s done to them kills me, but if that’s the cost for protecting you then I will gladly pay it.”  


“ _Them_ ,” she seethed, “Them, not us. Not me. I never asked you to put them in danger.”  


“You didn’t have to, Feyre,” Rhys replied, “Because you are one of us now. And it makes me sick that Tamlin knows _anything_ about you. And then I feel so damn guilty because it’s not like I have a claim on you.”  


“So honest about everything except what actually matters.”  


“I am trying so damn hard to make this work, Feyre. But you have no idea what you want.”  


“Maybe I don’t know what I want, but at least I don’t hide what I am behind a mask. At least I let them see what I am, broken bits and all. Why won’t you let your friends see your real face? But maybe it’s easier not to. Because what if you let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and they still walked away? Who could blame them? Who would want to bother with that sort of mess?” it was like she had thrown something at him the way the word hit him. She had pushed too far. Hit him too hard. She was losing him. She was losing something never had to begin with. 

 

* * *

Mess. He had been called a lot of things, words objectively much worse than that. But it was “mess” that made him flinch as if she’d hit him. He was a mess, and how could he ever expect her to deal with that? Because she was right, Feyre did let him see her broken bits and all and Rhys had given her none of that in return.  


He suddenly didn’t have the strength to stand and instead practically collapsed on her bed. He chanced a glance at Feyre and saw only guilt and regret, but she had been right. She had been right and he had been unfair but he didn’t have the words right now to explain. She tentatively sat next to him and risked a hand covering his own. Rhys almost wept with the tenderness of it. When was the last time he had been treated so carefully? Mor was great but she didn’t know how deep his trauma ran Cass and Amren believed in tough love. Az never outright asked him anything. Rhys always thought he’d hate being treated like he was breakable, but the slight touches of Feyre fingers over his own had tears pooling in his eyes.  


“Rhys,” she said slowly, “I didn’t mean that.”  


“Yes you did,” he replied. She winced, “But it’s okay, because you were right. Because I am a mess, and the only one who can seem to see that is you.” Feyre started to say something, but Rhys cut her off, “I’m sorry, Feyre.”  


Feyre searched his eyes for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry too. Can we start over?”  


“Is that what you want?” Rhys asked.  


“Do you?” she shot back.  


“No,” Rhys said immediately, “I don’t want to pretend this never happened. I don’t want to pretend with you, Feyre. Not anymore.”  


Feyre looked at their hands which were now clasped together. They were playing a dangerous game, and every instinct in Rhys screamed for him to stop. To run and keep himself safe. But he was done running. No matter what happened, he and Feyre Archeron’s fates were intertwined now and Rhys couldn’t turn away from her even if he wanted to. And looking into her stormy blue eyes, Rhys couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else but here.

 

* * *

After Rhys and Feyre had left her bedroom and seen how the others were very obviously trying to pretend like they hadn’t heard every word of their argument, “I’m going for a walk,” Feyre declared as her cheeks reddened. Of all the people that could have followed her, Feyre was not suspecting it would be Azriel. But here he was, a few steps behind her just like during her encounter with Tamlin. The world was turning upside down it seemed.  


“Feyre, wait,” he called after her, but Feyre wasn’t listening. Rhys had offered her a welcome distraction from the rest of the afternoon, but now that she was alone everything was crashing into her with full force and she didn’t want the others to see the fallout. She couldn’t stop hearing Tamlin’s voice in her ear, the way his hot breath tickled her neck. Sweet nothings dripping with poison. _Don’t forget I know all your secrets_ , then a threatening glance at Rhys, _His too_. It had been enough to destroy the little courage Feyre had mustered. Feyre didn’t know what Tamlin knew, but she was smart enough to realize it must be enough to destroy them. To destroy Rhys. The Nights had many secrets, more than Feyre. She had no doubt Tamlin would do anything to get her back and if it came down to it…  


Feyre didn’t even want to think about leaving when she had just promised not to walk away. But then she thought about how much Mor loved the business and how Rhys’ mother built it from nothing, and Feyre knew she wouldn’t risk that. Not for her own happiness. She was sure Rhys wouldn’t understand but he would have to.  
And Lucien.  


That’s what hurt most of all. Feyre felt so stupid to trust him. Of course his allegiance would be to Tamlin. They had been friends for a decade, Lucien owed him his life. How could Feyre compare to that? But still, he had seemed so sincere. They had talked almost every day since that night when Feyre revealed everything. She had given him all of her, broken bits and all, and he believed her. Or he seemed too. Lucien had never been a very good liar, but Feyre had been wrong about many things.  


There was too much pressing in on her all at once for Feyre to even think about Az trailing behind her. She didn’t know where she was going, but that apartment was too small and all she could think about was everything she could lose. Maybe being alone was better, at least then she had nothing that could be taken from her. Feyre let her tears fall freely. She needed to get this out of her system then she would go back and try to pretend like she wasn’t falling apart. She was such a fucking hypocrite.  


Feyre was on the steps of the library before she knew it and she didn’t have the strength to walk further. So she sat down and cried and barely registered Az sitting next to her.  


“What are you doing here?” she asked finally after her sobs had subsided. Her voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse.  


“I wanted you to be safe.” _From Tamlin_ remained unsaid. It was a fair concern, but Feyre didn’t have the energy to be afraid. Tamlin wanted to send a message that he could be anywhere, he wouldn’t end his game prematurely.  


“Thank you, but you can go now,” Feyre replied coldly, “I’m sure they’re wondering where you are.”  


“I’m sure they’re wondering where you are,” he countered. Feyre didn’t argue the point. Az let out a long sigh, “Listen, I was talking to Cassian.”  


“Oh, great,” Feyre said, “Whatever he told you, I’m sure it was more dramatic than what I actually said.”  


Az let out a tense laugh, “Probably, but I’m sorry if I made you feel unwelcome.”  


“I get it,” Feyre replied.  


“No, you don’t,” Az said, “But it wasn’t fair of me. Tamlin sets me- all of us- on edge and I didn’t even give you a chance.”  


Feyre regarded him carefully. What had Tamlin done to these people? Feyre was aching to find out, but she only got noncommittal answers. “I’m not going to tell you what happened,” Az said as if reading her mind.  


“Not your story to tell, I know,” Feyre replied.  


“It’s not,” Az allowed, “But you are doing a remarkable job of getting past Rhys’ shields.”  


“Thank you?”  


“It’s a good thing, Feyre,” Az laughed. He actually laughed. Feyre was surprised to find a small smile on her own lips, “I think it’s a very good thing you’re here.”  


Feyre gave him a sideways glance and it seemed Az had been heartfelt without ever meaning to. Before Feyre had a chance to really ponder it he said, “You know, I’m a black belt. So is Cass.”  


“Okay?”  


“If you ever wanted me to teach you any self-defense or anything, in case Tamlin comes back, I would,” then when Feyre remained silent, “I know you’re better friends with Cass, but he’s a shit teacher.”  


A peace offering, one that Feyre never expected from him. She couldn’t stop her grin. There must have been something unhinged in her eyes, because Az looked almost afraid.  


“Let’s get started then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! Hoping to have the next chapter ready by early next week, but we'll see. Let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

Az was merciless, but Feyre wouldn’t have had it any other way. She had started working out with him after her shifts at the library, and every night she had collapsed in bed a mixture of sore muscles and exhaustion practically knocking her out before her head hit the pillow. Cass was seriously inconvenienced by how it was cutting into their drinking time, and Rhys remained silent on the matter altogether. Amren regarded her with vicious delight and Mor with vague distaste. But training was giving Feyre an outlet she hadn’t known she needed and Az took it all and hit back twice as hard. Each blow he landed on Feyre was an unspoken promise, _Tamlin won’t hold back so why should I?_  


Feyre wondered what his own life had been like to make him so jaded, but Feyre was finding the same veins of herself in Az that she had seen in Cass. They hadn’t had any heartfelt talks since that first day, but there was a quiet comradery between them. And with it, Feyre was starting to feel like she truly belonged here.  


Which was incredibly dangerous considering she was still standing on the precipice of whatever was happening between her and Rhys and what would happen when Tamlin made his next move. Feyre wasn’t sure when she’d started thinking of her life as a chess game, but she was already preparing for how she’d hit back.  


Considering how Az was starting to block her hits more seriously, Feyre hoped it wouldn’t be a figurative hit. Not that she wanted to resort to the same kind of violence that Tamlin used, but it seemed a shame for her training to go to waste. Judging by how Rhys had started admiring her increasingly toned arms and legs, it didn’t seem like her new found strength was all in her head.  


Exhausting her body with fighting calmed the storm inside her mind the same way painting did, which was good considering she hadn’t picked up a brush since _Starfall_. She couldn’t bring herself to face that particularly memory just yet. She could still see Rhys’ eyes clearly as he threw her. There was terror, yes. But there was also a sense of pride and strength that vanished as soon as Feyre had cried out. Rhys still didn’t offer a real explanation and Feyre didn’t know how to ask, not without offering him something in return. A thought for a thought. A trauma for a trauma. Feyre played with her leather bands, the only secret she had left to give him.  


Which again made Feyre think about the issue of her birthday. Mor hadn’t made a move since last week and Feyre was getting nervous, which was ridiculous considering she had very real problems. Her best friend possibly throwing her a birthday party shouldn’t even be on her radar, yet the more time passed the more her apprehension grew.  


Maybe she answered Lucien’s call because she needed get her priorities straight. There had to be some explanation for it, because she certainly didn’t actually give a shit about why he’s sold her out. He had, and Feyre was still dealing with the aftershocks. Tamlin could come for her at any time and Rhys would probably beat him within an inch of his life before he let him take her. The thought made Feyre shiver.  


Whatever happened next was on Lucien as much as it was on her, and he’d have to deal with the guilt of that. She should let him rot for what he’d done. But here they were again. Same restaurant. Same apprehension. But this time Lucien was undoubtedly an enemy who had been masquerading as a friend.  


“Do they know you’re here?” Lucien asked carefully as she sat down. At least she looked better than she had the last time she’d seen him. She’d regained some of the weight she’s lost with Tamlin and her eyes, once dull and lifeless, now shone despite everything currently weighing down on her. She was healing, and Feyre intended to make sure Lucien knew he had no part in it.  


“This might shock you,” Feyre said coldly, “But friends don’t normally decide where you can and can’t go.”  


“Feyre-”  


“I don’t care why you did it, Lucien,” Feyre said. She was trying to be as cold and calculating as she’d seem Tamlin be countless times, but she couldn’t quite stop her voice from breaking, “I trusted you, and you decided _he_ was more important. That is the beginning and end of everything.”  


“Feyre, will you just listen.”  


“No, I won’t. I won’t ever listen to you again,” Feyre got up but was stopped cold at the next words out of Lucien’s mouth.  


“He had something on your sisters.”

* * *

Not Lucien. Not Rhys. Not even Feyre herself.  


Tamlin had gone after Nesta and Elain.  


Feyre could barely keep her anger contained. She didn’t know when the nothingness that had been her heart started filling with this- this _rage_ \- but she was consumed by it and she didn’t know how to stop it.  


She listened to Lucien, she didn’t know what else to do. She listened, and she didn’t forgive. But she did understand. It seemed Tamlin knew Feyre better than he’d ever let on, and he’d been planning what to do if Feyre left for a very long time. Every time Feyre thought she got to bottom, she learned that Tamlin’s betrayals ran deeper than she’d ever know. She should stop being disappointed, but it seemed like he could always find a new way to hurt her.  


Feyre thought Tamlin had saved them, saved her sisters because he loved her. But in truth, he was gathering leverage. Because every penny Tamlin had given Nesta to pay off their father’s debts, it was legally a loan that had been gathering interest for four years. The Archeron sisters had no idea, blissfully thanking Tamlin for his kindness when he was saving this secret for when he needed Feyre back.  


Despite the brisk walk home, angry tears were still spilling down her cheeks when she entered the apartment.  


And saw everyone there.  


_Everyone_.  


Rhys, Mor, Cass, Az, Amren. Her sisters. Even Mor’s girlfriend who didn’t even know Feyre.  


And Mor was wearing a fucking party hat.  


Feyre loosed a shaky, tearful breath as Mor gave a halfhearted, “Surprise?”  


“I asked you not to do this,” was all she Feyre gave Mor before turning to her sisters, “We need to talk.”  


“What’s wrong?” Elain asked when they were safely away from all the concerned ears that could be listening in. Instead of answering, Feyre turned to Nesta.  


“When Tamlin gave you the money,” Feyre began. Nesta flinched, “What did he say?”  


Nesta regarded her for a long moment, “That was years ago, why does it matter?”  


“Answer me, Nesta,” Feyre had her grief on a very tight leash right now, and Nesta seemed to sense it was on the verge of snapping.  


“He gave me the check then had me sign some papers.”  


“Sign what?”  


Nesta faltered, horrified understanding creeping into her gaze. _Finally_ the gravity of the situation seemed to be reaching her. Elain too stiffened though the understanding hadn’t completely dawned on her, “He said it was legal thing,” Nesta babbled, “That with that much money, he needed to account for it for taxes.”  


“You didn’t read it?”  


“He was your fiancé,” Nesta countered, “I didn’t think he’d lie.”  


“Stupid,” Feyre yelled not even caring that everyone on the entire floor could probably hear her, “You are so fucking _stupid_.” The words didn’t even seem to hit Nesta. For some reason that made Feyre even angrier. Maybe because it was Feyre who had been the stupid one, and both of them knew it.  


“What’s happening?” Elain asked again, louder this time and with panic tinging her voice.  


“Your sister signed a contract with Tamlin.” Feyre explained, “And now she owes back every cent she took.”

* * *

“I told you this was a bad idea, Mor,” Az quietly chastised. It had only been a few minutes since Feyre left with her sisters, but it felt like an eternity to Rhys. Feyre had been crying when she came in, so it wasn’t the party itself that upset her, though it certainly didn’t help. And still, Rhys didn’t have the right to go out and find out what was wrong with her, because he was still unwilling to do the same thing in return.  


“How was I supposed to know she’d come back like that,” Mor retorted.  


“It shouldn’t matter, Mor,” Rhys snapped, “She said she didn’t want it.”  


“Oh don’t you all gang up on me,” she replied, “You’re all here aren’t you?”  


Rhys response was cut off by the door opening, but the wrong Archeron sister was on the other side. Not that Elain looked in any better shape than Feyre had when she came in. Tears were still spilling down her cheeks and she offered no explanation for where Feyre or Nesta were.  


“I just came back for my bag,” Elain said.  


“Wait, Elain,” Rhys called, “What’s going on?”  


“Ask Feyre,” she replied with more strength than Rhys would’ve given her credit for, “You don’t let her know your secrets, why should I tell you hers’?”  


Rhys flinched, the words hitting their mark. He didn’t have time to dwell on them however, not when Feyre was nowhere to be found. Not when Tamlin could be anywhere waiting to hurt her. Not when there was still so much he hadn’t told her.  


“Where is she?” Rhys asked, “Please, Elain,” he repeated after a too long pause.  


“I don’t know,” she admitted, “She and Nesta took off, Nesta probably went home, but Feyre…”  


“We have to find her,” Rhys replied immediately. He didn’t let himself think what would happen if someone else found her first. He had his coat and was out the door a heartbeat later. He vaguely registered others following him but didn’t bother checking who it was.  


“Rhys, stop,” someone called after him. Cass, it sounded like, but his blood was pounding too loud in his head to hear anything but a soft mantra of _Feyre, Feyre, Feyre_.  


“I have to find her,” Rhys practically whimpered. Someone was gripping his arm now, physically stopping his search.  


“I know,” Cass said, “But wandering aimlessly doesn’t help anyone.”  


“What else can we do?” Rhys asked, “Where could she have gone?”  


“I might have an idea,” Az said.

* * *

Feyre didn’t realize she was heading to Az’s gym until she was already through the door. She was in deep shit before, but now…  
Now her life was over.  


Nesta owed Tamlin $100,000 and there was no way Feyre was going to leave her that burden alone, not when Nesta had taken her in and it was Feyre’s fault in the first place. And there was no way to get that kind of money fast enough. She’d have to go back, that was the only thing Tamlin would let her do. It was over, Tamlin had won.  


And the Feyre she had become, well on her way to being healed and whole, was going to be broken yet again. Feyre knew there was no coming back from it this time, if she went back to Tamlin she would die. She deserved it. It was easy to blame her father for leaving them with his debts in the first place, or Nesta and Elain for coming to her for help, but it was Feyre’s fault for being so blindly trusting. But after a childhood of poverty and misery, Feyre had fallen in love with the first person to show her any kindness, and she would pay for her naivety with her life.  


She wrapped her hands with detachment and stepped in front of the punching bag. The rage that had been building in her for months was ready to be let out. It had been trickling out in her sparring with Az, but she was always afraid of hurting him. Now she was alone and could let it pour out of her until the bag or her fingers broke. She once again thanked Az for offering to teach her how to fight. The first hit was euphoric. The red leather of the bag felt real and solid in a way that was tethering her to the ground when her mind wanted nothing more than to float away. The second hit was exhilarating, adrenaline filling her as if her opponent was real. She found herself ducking like the bag was hitting back.  


The third hit was when her fire turned to ice. When her hits became methodical and deadly, aiming to hurt not just to release her own stress. The bag was Tamlin, who had once loved her so fiercely and was now slowly killing her. The bag was Lucien, who let him get away with it for so long. Her sisters, for needing her. Her father for leaving them. Rhys and Mor for finally giving her something she was terrified of losing. It was herself, for being so stupid to think someone could love her without wanting anything in return.  


She was so lost in her rage that the moment she was touched, Feyre whirled around and immediately landed a punch on the stranger’s face. As he reeled, she swept his legs out from under him and he was on the floor, Feyre towering over him triumphantly.  


“ _Shit_ ,” Cass cursed as blood poured from his nose.  


“Cass?” Feyre cried, the anger finally seeping from her bones, “Christ, are you okay?”  


Feyre looked around, and not only was Cass there, but the others as well. And they were all looking at her as if she’d grown a second head. All except Cass, that is, who was now up and sporting a roguish grin despite the blood dripping onto his shirt.  


“Who taught you _that_?” he asked. His smile faded as Feyre realized her eyes were filling with tears. _Shit. Shit_. She would not cry in front of them, she wouldn’t let them see how thoroughly her life was turning to shit.  


“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she furiously swiped at her eyes.  


“I can take it, Feyre,” Cass replied, “If you need to get anything else out.” That only made Feyre cry harder. She looked around at everyone, the people who had welcomed her in and helped her heal. The people she’d have to leave.  


“What happened,” Mor asked.  


Feyre took a deep breath. Honesty. She had promised Rhys honesty, and she would do the same for his family in return for all they’d done for her.  


“I owe Tamlin money,” she began. By the time Feyre was done, she wasn’t the only one crying. 

* * *

Rhys’ first thought was shame that he didn’t think $100,000 was a lot of money. His second was that for him, $100,000 was not a lot of money. His third thought was how in the world he was going to get Feyre to accept that money from him.  


Because she was crying like it was the end of the world and he had a solution well within her grasp, but he knew there was no way she was going to accept his help. Especially not money since that was what got her into this mess in the first place and especially not after what he’d done.  


But they didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. Tamlin hadn’t come for the money yet, and until he did, Rhys had time. He had time to convince Feyre to accept his help.  


“You never answered my question,” Cass asked. His nose had finally stopped bleeding onto the gym floor, but he was sporting an impressive bruise, “Who the hell taught you how to do that?”  


Feyre laughed. She actually laughed, and Rhys wanted to hug Cass for breaking the tension, “Az,” she replied. When Rhys whipped around, Az was trying to hide a smile and soon Rhys himself was grinning.  


“Of course he did,” Cass replied, “You and I are going to spar, see what you can do when it’s a fair fight.”  


“Don’t get pissy just because you got knocked on your ass, Cass,” Amren purred.  


“I wasn’t ready,” he cried, “I want to see what Feyre can do when she doesn’t have the element of surprise.”  


“She’d still knock you on your ass, Cass,” Az promised, “We’ve been sparring for weeks.”  


Rhys took a moment to look at his family, bickering and smiling even though things had irrevocably gone to hell, “Let’s go home.” Rhys said.  


He seemed to be the only one to notice Feyre hesitate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another really fun one to write! I am going back to school this weekend, so updates will definitely be slower. I'm hoping to at least still update weekly. Let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

That small hesitation played in Feyre’s head for days. _Home_. It had been the wrong thing for him to say. But she was starting to think of this place as home, wasn’t she? Wasn’t that the whole problem? That she had a home only for it to get ripped away.  


But there were no signs that it was getting ripped away from her, at least not right away. There had been no word from Tamlin, and Feyre was confident Lucien would try to warn her before he made his move.  


But her immediate problem right now wasn’t Tamlin. No… right now it was Rhys.  


She could practically see him holding himself back every time they were in the same room. Feyre knew he had the money the spare. It wasn’t a secret that he and Mor were rich. And she also knew he was itching to offer it to her. But she couldn’t take it. She would never take that kind of money from someone, not when the last time she did it led to _this_. Besides, friends didn’t lend friends $100,000. Rhys wouldn’t mean to, but there were definitely strings attached.  


She thought Cassian of all people would understand that, but come their Friday night drinks when Feyre was voicing her fears he argued.  


“It’s not the same, Feyre,” he insisted.  


“No, it’s worse,” she retorted, “This wouldn’t be like him paying my rent, this would be me owing him my life.” Because Rhys already paid most of her rent, but it wasn’t her fault he wouldn’t tell her what her share actually was. There was no fricking way a luxury apartment went for what he was charging her, even when they were splitting it. Feyre had deniability with that, taking this money from him would be like signing her soul away.  


“He wouldn’t ask for it back, you know that.”  


“I didn’t think Tamlin would ask for it back either,” Feyre replied, “Yet here I am.”  


Cassian recoiled as if she’d struck him. Good, maybe he was finally seeing the calamity of the situation. Maybe he was finally realized the gravity of the situation, “Please Feyre, however he pesters you, don’t say that to him.”  


“Obviously I wouldn’t,” Feyre rolled her eyes, “But you understand now right?”  


“Just because I understand doesn’t mean I agree,” he countered, “I don’t think it’s fair that you compare him so much to Tamlin.”  


But how could she not? Tamlin was her entire life up until two months ago. Feyre had nothing else to compare to. Maybe it was unfair of her, but she couldn’t stop. Rhys was undeniably better, but Tamlin was the standard Feyre had. He wouldn’t appreciate that it was a competition, even though he won every time.  


“I thought you weren’t keeping secrets from him anymore,” Cassian said.  


“You don’t count since you turned out to be such a shit confidant,” she countered.  


Cassian loosed a deep laugh, “But now you and Az are friends.”  


“And now Az and I are friends,” she allowed, “That doesn’t mean I liked your methods.”  


“Just think, Feyre,” he smirked, “Next time I meddle you might actually get Rhys in bed.”

* * *

“I have a brilliant idea,” Mor said as she crashed into the apartment.  


“You don’t live here,” Rhys said in annoyance as he closed his laptop.  


“My name’s still on the lease,” she countered, “And it will be until Feyre decides to stay for good.”  


Rhys kept his mouth shut. The Feyre moving in topic was one they all had agreed to table until Tamlin got under control. That meant Feyre wouldn’t threaten to leave and Mor wouldn’t guilt her into staying. It had worked remarkably well until now it seemed.  


“Don’t you want to hear my brilliant idea?” Mor asked as she flopped next to him on the couch. Rhys sighed and turned towards her, work evidently forgotten for now.  


“Your last brilliant idea got Cass arrested.”  


“My brilliance and his idiocy don’t mix well,” she allowed, “But this isn’t about him. It’s about Feyre.”  


“Okay?” he asked warily. Mor rarely had brilliant ideas that involved meddling. Meddling normally ruined perfectly good things. Like his relationship with Feyre, for instance. Not ideal. His relationship with Feyre was nowhere near what he wanted it to be, but it was nice and likely to be broken by whatever Mor was planning. Still, Rhys nodded for her to continue.  


“So we don’t have any employees anymore,” she began, “particularly, we don’t have a digital artist.”  


“Oh, you are brilliant.” He practically purred. So brilliant Rhys was a little embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it himself. For all his obsessing and brooding, he had a knack for missing the most obvious solutions. Mor continued, her coy smile the only indication that she’d heard him at all.  


“We offer her the job and a very attractive signing bonus,” she added, confirming Rhys’ train of thought. “The Tamlin problem is taken care of, Feyre knows it’s not just a gift, and we have a new artist who doesn’t give a shit about our reputation.”  


“Now where was this business prowess when we really needed it?”  


Mor snorted, “I guess I just needed a new best friend to bring it out.”  


Rhys’ witty retort was cut off by Feyre herself coming in. She looked absolutely wrecked, almost as bad as when she’d first moved in. Rhys didn’t know if it was the stress or the fact that she practically lived at her job these days, but she looked dead on her feet every time he’d seen her. But now Rhys wasn’t filled with utter despair at his own uselessness like normal. Now he had a plan.  


“Speak of the devil,” Mor replied.  


“Oh god, what is it?” she asked as she tied her long hair back.  


“Do you promise to hear us out?”  


Feyre looked between them for a long moment before sighing and nodding her head.  


She was expecting whatever nonsense it would be from Mor, but it was Rhys who spoke. “Work for us,” he said, the plan forming more solidly as he spoke. This was either genius or their worst idea yet, it remained to be seen.  


“What?” The way she looked, Rhys would think he was holding a gun to her head.  


“You’re an artist, we need album covers. Come work for Illyrian Night, Feyre.”  


“This is ridiculous, Rhys,” Feyre replied the looked at Mor, “You both see that, yes?”  


“How is it ridiculous?” Mor asked.  


“I’m not going to work for you just because you want to save my ass.”  


“Do you have another plan?” Rhys replied, his voice taking on an edge that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He tried his best to mellow his tone, but it was no use. “One that doesn’t involve going back to that bastard?”  


He was under no delusion that he was Feyre’s savior, she didn’t need a savior. Everything she was she had made for herself. But now here she was, about to lose it all, and if he could offer her a way out… how could she not take it? Rhys, of course, had the luxury of never needing a chance like this.  


“I don’t need your charity.” She spit, as if she could see every thought flowing through his head.  


“It’s not charity,” he insisted. And it wasn’t, not completely. They did need artists, desperately. It wasn’t only the musicians that left after Amarantha. Every single department lost someone vital and Feyre would be filling those positions.  


“Okay,” Mor said soothingly as she stepped between them, “You don’t believe Rhys, fine, but believe me.” Rhys indignation was cut off by Mor’s hand on his arm. She had a plan, of course she did, “Believe me, Feyre.”  


Feyre crossed her arms, “Fine,” but she didn’t sound happy about it, “Go on.”  


Rhys loosed a sigh and sat back down. Rhys had tried, let Mor take a turn.  


“We’d need to hire someone new anyways, and soon,” Mor began, “We’re already falling behind as it is.”  


A truth. One Feyre seemed to be considering.  


“Some things happened a few years ago, and our reputation took a hit.” Mor continued. That was when Rhys knew she had Feyre on the hook. The vagueness was just enough to let her know she would be doing them a favor, not the other way around. Rhys had never paid attention to how Mor ran her part of the business. When he actually cared about the business, he had been too wrapped up in his own work and ego to care. Then everything changed and he didn’t care at all. He was ashamed that he never once realized that with him catatonic, Mor had the skills to run Illyrian Night on her own. And here she was, using charms she’d used on Grammy winners and egos bigger than their fortunes to tackle her hardest case yet: Feyre Archeron. Feyre who insisted she didn’t need help but craved it desperately. Whose pride wouldn’t accept the salvation they were offering. The trick was to make it not seem like salvation, and Mor was pulling it off.  


“I’d have no idea what I was doing,” Feyre warned. They had her. Rhys knew they had her. He bit back his smile.  


“We’re blackballed from anyone who would know what they’re doing,” Mor replied, “Besides, I’ve wanted some new blood in this business for years.”  


“And you swear it’s not just because of my money issue?” Feyre asked.  


“Yes, this plan comes with the added bonus of helping my best friend in her time of need,” she admitted, “But no, Feyre, it’s not just because of that. I’ve seen your work, and I think you could do great things with us.”  


Feyre regarded her for a long moment. Rhys might as well have not been in the room, and he found he didn’t care.  


“I’m really your best friend?” Feyre asked.  


And Rhys knew they had her. 

* * *

This was such a bad idea. Feyre knew it was a bad idea. But the problem was she didn’t have a better one. She needed money, she needed a second job. Rhys was handing her both. Her hands were tied.  


The worst part was that Feyre didn’t seem to mind as much as she should. Accepting this job should make warning bells go off in Feyre’s head after everything she’d been through. But working for Rhys made the whole thing seem legitimate in the way that made her feel safe. Maybe she just trusted Rhys and Mor entirely too much.  


In any case, she signed a contract with a ridiculous starting salary and she let herself relax a little.  


Of course relaxing these days meant letting someone kick the shit out of her. After her initial hit on Cass, he was itching to take her down. Feyre found sparring with him to be thrilling in an entirely scandalous way. Az was always in control of his movements and calculated just how hard to hit. Cass swung to hurt. She had shown up back home with more bruises than she could account for. Rhys was ready to kill him over it, but it was exhilarating.  


She was supposed to meet Cass when Amren showed up. Amren, who scared the shit out of her but she also kind of loved. It was odd being alone with her. Feyre wouldn’t consider Amren to be a close friend, but she had no doubt Amren would defend her just as viciously as the others. The issue was Feyre never really saw Amren as her own person, but rather how she was often connected to Rhys and Cass.  


In any case, it seemed like the Feyre was getting to know Amren better today whether she wanted to or not.  


“Wrap your hands,” was all she said before striding past Feyre.  


If Cassian was reckless and Az was calculated, Amren was some vicious combination of the two. She took risks, but skill and experience was on her side. She didn’t hurt Feyre needlessly, but she didn’t pull punches. Feyre was sweating and wheezing in minutes yet Amren didn’t let up until she had Feyre pinned. And still, she grinned wickedly as she helped Feyre up as if she hadn’t just beat her within an inch of her life.  


“Where’s Cass?” Feyre panted as she choked down some water.  


“It didn’t seem fair he got to monopolize your time,” Amren shrugged.  
Feyre quirked an eyebrow, “I didn’t realize you cared.”  


“I wouldn’t call it ‘caring’” she deflected, “But I would call us friends.”  


Her brows rose higher, “Would you?”  


“Don’t think too much of it,” she snapped, “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”  


“You could’ve just asked to talk,” Feyre said, “You didn’t have to kick my ass into the ground.”  


“I’m a better teacher than Cass and Az put together, I thought you’d like it.”  


And Feyre did. By the end of their session Feyre was blocking hits without even thinking about it and working just on instinct. Az had been working for weeks to get her out of her own head, but Amren did it in an hour.  


“So,” Amren continued, “I know you’ve gotten this talk from every else already.”  


“What talk?”  


“The ‘don’t hurt Rhys’ Talk.”  


“Oh,” Feyre deflated. She, in fact, hadn’t gotten that talk. She’d only gotten the ‘keep trying’ talk, which was as annoying. At least Amren was telling her something different.  


“But I think Rhys can take care of his own heart,” Amren said, “I’m strictly concerned about the business.”  


“Okay?”  


“You don’t know what Tamlin’s done to us, and I’m not going to tell you,” she continued, “But you know better than any of us what he’s capable of.”  


“Okay?”  


“And only you know what he’d do to get you back. Right now he’s going after you, but how long until he starts going after us?”  


Feyre didn’t know what to say. Of course, these were all things she knew, but to hear it so bluntly was like a bucket of ice water thrown over her. Of course she knew once Tamlin didn’t get Feyre with the money he’d try something else.  


“I’m not saying you should go back to him, but I am saying to be prepared.”  


“I’m prepared for Tamlin,” Feyre snapped.  


“I know you are,” Amren said, her voice probably as soothing as she was capable of.  


“Then what are you saying?”  


“You already had Mor and Rhys, now you’re friends with Cass and Az. I like you, Feyre, but someone has to think logically.”  


“Then think logically, what are you trying to tell me?”  


“That whatever price Tamlin decided has to be paid for you, they will pay it. They will lose everything if it meant keeping you safe.”  


“And you don’t think my life is worth that?”  


“You don’t think your life is worth that,” she countered, “And you wouldn’t happy if they gave up everything for you.”  


“So you’re saying I should leave?”  


“I am saying, girl,” Amren replied. She was holding such intense eye contact that Feyre struggled not to look away. But this was something she needed to hear, she realized. Something that Feyre had been thinking for weeks but had never faced. But the day was coming when Tamlin made a move, and despite all her posturing, Feyre wasn’t ready.  


“I am saying you should be very careful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! It's been a hot sec since the last update, and I'm sorry. I'm back at school now and have been working really hard to get all moved into my new apartment. I will try to update this at least weekly, but who knows what my workload will be. I will try my best! Let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning this chapter for referenced self harm and sexual assault

“Rhys, let me open my eyes this is ridiculous,” Feyre cried as she felt the car lurch around a particularly sharp bend in whatever road they were on. Feyre had barely been home for ten minutes when Rhys whisked her away. He hadn’t given her any sort of explanation, he just asked if she trusted him (which of course she did) then threw Feyre in his car.  


Her palms were sweating and her breath was coming in panicked bursts, but still she obediently kept her eyes closed. After the fallout of Mor’s party and the job offer, Feyre owed him some trust. She had been thinking about Amren’s words for days, but she was no closer to a solution. She was already one foot out the door, but trying desperately to stay in. She didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t stay if there was a chance she’d get him hurt. She only wanted Rhys, but she couldn’t tell him because it would mean confessing all the other shit.  


And now here she was in his car after a light kidnapping going god knew where.  


“Will you be patient,” Rhys snapped though there was amusement in his voice. Oh, he was enjoying this far too much and Feyre swore she’d repay whatever the fuck this outing was.  


“It’s been hours.”  


“You have no idea how long it’s been,” he retorted, “Your eyes are closed.”  


Instead of snapping back Feyre decided to sit in sullen silence. Fine, let him take her where he wanted. Let him leave her in a ditch for all she cared, at least she was away from Mor for the time being. She wasn’t mad at Mor exactly, she just was starting to feel suffocated under the apologies and her friend’s watchful gaze eager to help her with any sign of discomfort. Feyre thought accepting the job would put the whole thing to rest, but if anything it made Mor more attentive. Feyre’d made herself look like a basket case at the surprise party and wouldn’t let Mor dote how she wanted, so her worry was her own fault. But it still left her exhausted after every interaction.  


“Yknow,” Feyre said a while later, “Taking me away from my art supplies isn’t helping make me feel like I deserved that ridiculously huge signing bonus.”  


And it really was ridiculously huge, more than the money she owed Tamlin. Feyre saw the bonus for what it was: a way out for her and her sisters. Maybe she should be more wary of handsome strangers offering her money all things considered. But she trusted Rhys, and even if she didn’t, she did trust Mor. Besides, Feyre actually read her contracts unlike everyone else in the music business, apparently, and she would be earning that money.  


“Think of it as an advance,” Rhys said when he presented her the paperwork, “You’re getting your salary ahead of time.  


“Rhys, this can’t possibly be close to how much your last artist made.”  


“You have no clue how much he made,” Rhys replied, “And besides, you bring far more to the table than he did.”  


“Like what? My sparkling personality?”  


Rhys let out a genuine laugh at that, low and breathy and it made Feyre’s stomach do backflips, “Among other things. He was just a digital artist, you’re that plus a painter and a photographer. You’re really being paid for three jobs.” It had taken a bit longer for Feyre to be thoroughly worn down, but in the week that had passed she found that she loved the work. Damn Rhys for being right, but she was good at it and she was doing the work of a whole department.  


But none of that mattered when Rhys was literally kidnapping her from her work.  


“Stop fidgeting,” he scolded, “We’re almost there.”  


“Almost where?”  


Feyre could practically hear his mischievous grin, “You’ll see.”  


About half an hour later, the car stopped and Feyre was finally allowed to open her eyes.  


She didn’t know what she was expecting, but this was far from it. She was on a mountain somewhere in the middle of a meadow. The slight breeze was making the first blooms of spring ripple like a multicolored ocean. Behind her sat a lone cabin small enough to be cozy and large enough to be comfortable.  


Feyre turned back, not knowing what to say to see Rhys smiling at her. She must look like such an idiot, gaping at wildflowers like she’d never seen them before. But when was the last time she had been anywhere so peaceful? The realization must have shown on her face because Rhys’ smile turned soft, “Rhysand Night, what have you done?”  


“I take you on one unsolicited vacation and you start calling me Rhysand?”  


“Is that what this is?” Feyre asked.  


“It’s a birthday present,” he said, “And an apology.”  


Feyre didn’t know what to say, so she just let him lead her. 

* * *

There was a split second where Rhys thought this was the stupidest thing he had ever done. He was infinitely grateful that her eyes were closed, because his gaze was darting to her every few seconds to make sure she didn’t think she was actually being kidnapped.  


But her face when she saw the field…  


Every time he thought she couldn’t be more beautiful, Feyre proved him wrong. He wished he’d gotten a picture of the awe and appreciation on her face. It was the kind of appraising look that only an artist could give, it was almost like she was itching to paint it. He allowed himself to dream for a second of a companion piece to _Starfall_ of those people looking at the infinite sea of wildflowers. Maybe he’d tell her.  


Rhys led her into the cabin he’d spent the entire last weekend cleaning up. Normally he, Cass and Az had used it to spend spring breaks drinking and causing trouble. But now… now it was going to be an apology to Feyre.  


He wasn’t idiot, he had seen everything pressing down on her shoulders. He had found a way for her to accept the money legitimately, but he could tell the choice stilled weighed on her. And why wouldn’t it? It was a lot of money. Nesta and Elain were as distrustful of it as Feyre was, even more so. After she’d signed the contract, Nesta had cornered him to tell him in no uncertain terms if he ever tried to use this to guilt Feyre into anything, she would personally castrate him. As if Rhys would ever do that, but Nesta was nothing if not loyal. He appreciated that about the Archeron sisters. He had the fleeting thought that she would do someone like Cassian good, but he quickly decided to leave the matchmaking to Mor.  


The moment the money hit Feyre’s account, she got to work, as if it’d somehow vanish if she had a single idle moment. He had barely seen her in last few days even though he knew she was just in her room. After _Starfall_ , she had imposed a rule on herself to only work away from him. It made him angry and guilty, but he had ruined her painting so he supposed this was his punishment for that.  


When he had confronted Mor with his idea for this trip, she had wholeheartedly agreed that Feyre needed some time away. So here he was, trying to force Feyre into some relaxation. And maybe get some peace himself without Feyre tempting him right across the hall.  


“Rhys, what’s this?” she called from down the hall.  


“Oh,” he said, “I thought you might want to paint, so I got some stuff.”  


Rhys smiled sheepishly as Feyre gaped at him. It wasn’t entirely unhappy, but the discomfort was clear on her face, “There is enough paint here to last _months_. How long are you keeping me here exactly?”  


“You think I’m keeping you here?” Rhys flinched, “You can leave whenever you want, Feyre.”  


“That’s not what I meant,” she backtracked, “I’m just surprised it all.”  


“Good surprised or bad surprised?”  


She contemplated a moment before answering, “Weird surprised. Weird, but good, I think.”  


A smile tugged at the corner of Rhys’ lips, he could work with weird but good. He could _thrive_ with that. Their entire relationship was weird but good.  


“If you’re all settled then,” Rhys replied, “I’ll get going.”  


Feyre stopped dead and just stared at him. What had he done this time?  


“You’re leaving?”  


Now it was Rhys’ turn to look confused, “Yes?”  


“Oh,” Feyre replied, trying to recover quickly. Was that hurt in her eyes?  


“What?”  


“I feel so stupid,” she laughed humorlessly at herself. Rhys could only stare at her as realization dawned on him. Oh. _Oh_. She thought this was a trip for them _together_. And now it just looked like he was abandoning her.  


“Feyre, wait,” Rhys called as she turned away from him and back to the master bedroom. He grabbed her arm gently and turned her back towards him.  


“I’m so embarrassed,” she replied, “Of course you wouldn’t stay with me.”  


“Why wouldn’t I?”  


“Please don’t make me say it,” she said, tears gathering in her eyes.  


“I don’t understand.”  


“After… last time we got close, of course you wouldn’t want me like that.”  


Rhys dropped her arm in shock. All this time, she thought he didn’t want her? After everything, she still thought he didn’t want her every moment of every day. Rhys couldn’t form an explanation, his want for her was as constant and simple as breathing, so much a part of him at this point he couldn’t actually put it into words, “There are so many things I wish you knew,” he said instead.  


“Then tell me,” she replied. Her expression was unreadable. It was such a simple request, but it shook Rhys to his very core. _Tell me_. Everything in him was screaming not to, he could hear her calling him a mess. He was more of a mess than she ever realized, and if he told her and she left…  


“I won’t walk away,” she said as if reading his mind, “Not from you, not after everything.”  


Rhys regarded her for a long moment and saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. He knew she was making a promise she couldn’t keep, she could walk away for a number of reasons. She could be taken away. But right now, all Rhys saw was Feyre offering him everything he ever dreamed of.  


“A story for a story,” he said. 

* * *

Feyre decided to go first, it was only fair since she was the one who’d asked him to stay. She started with her mother’s death, how she was only 8 but Feyre had been living with enough expectations to last a lifetime. Feyre hadn’t talked about her mother in a very long time, and she discovered there was a lot of latent bitterness that she’d never fully gotten out of her system. Feyre was the youngest, but she was expected to be the responsible one. The last thing her mother had ever told Feyre was to take care of her sisters, as if her father didn’t exist and if Nesta wasn’t already a teenager. Why her hopes and dreams fell on Feyre, she didn’t know, but Feyre lived with it for the next decade. Until her alcoholic father pushed her one step too far, drank away one too many paychecks and left them short on rent yet again. Feyre had been holding onto the guilt of leaving them for six years, like she had failed the mother even though she had never stopped failing Feyre. She was crying by the end of it, and Feyre feared how the rest of the night would go if this was her reaction to one of her tamer stories.  


When she looked up, she saw Rhys was crying to. For some reason, she reached out to comfort him even though it was her trauma. She carefully wiped the tears from his eyes and he caught Feyre’s hand when she was done, “You were just a child,” he murmured not letting her go. Instead, he laced their fingers together. Feyre never really saw how fucked up her childhood was until she had told Cassian, and it seemed like Rhys was confirming it. The weight of entire family should not have been put on the shoulders of an 8 year old. She had not failed them, her parents had failed her. She took comfort in that even if it broke her heart.  


“You’re turn,” was all she said. Rhys hesitated, as if searching for an equal thing to give in exchange just as Feyre had.  


Rhys took a deep breath before saying, “Can I… can I tell you everything?”  


“Only if you want to,” she replied.  


“I don’t just want to,” he said slowly, “I think I need to, Feyre. I need to tell someone, and I want it to be you.”  


Feyre only nodded, and invitation for him to begin. 

* * *

Rhys was sure he was going to throw up. He was so terrified his stomach was tying in knots so tight he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak around them. But then he glanced at Feyre, and she looked so open and concerned and he trusted her so damn much. He loved her, he realized. He was _in love_ with her. He didn’t have time to deal with that particular realization right now, not when she was looking at him like that and waiting for him.  


He started at the beginning. When he met Amarantha.  


“I met this girl right before I graduated college,” he began, “her name was Amarantha, and I never really dated before her, so I thought it was love at first sight. In retrospect, I think I was just lonely and terrified of entering the real world, and I really wanted to sleep with her. But anyways, we dated the last three months of college, and she had a job lined up closer to where she grew up but I asked her to stay.  


“I’d spent years balancing classes with Illyrian Night, and Mor helped a lot, but Amarantha was kind of a business prodigy. I offered her a job,” he glanced at Feyre like she’d judge him for pulling the same move with another woman, but she only nodded for him to continue, “Mor was pissed that I did it without asking, but when she saw the kind of mind Amarantha had… we weren’t good at the underhanded side of running a business, but Amarantha was. She was cold, and calculating and brilliant. Almost overnight, we went from a low profile label to a major player in the game. She somehow got Tarquin to sign with us when he was being courted by _everyone_ and he made us famous.  


“So we were successful for a few years, I dated Amarantha. I was getting ready to propose. We were happy.”  


Something broke in Rhys and he felt tears stinging his eyes. His breathing was just beginning to become shallow and ragged when Feyre squeezed his hand gently. He squeezed back, using her as an anchor in reality. He had let Amarantha ruin a night with Feyre before and wouldn’t do it again, “Two years ago, our clients started leaving,” he continued, “It started slowly, so as not to raise suspicion. Bands leave, new acts sign, it happens. Mor was the first one to get really worried that we weren’t signing as many people as were leaving.  


“It was me who realized everyone we lost went to the Spring Court, to Tamlin.” Feyre flinched but didn’t ask him to stop.  


“I didn’t take a genius to figure out he was targeting us. Undercutting us on purpose, offering bigger signing bonuses then skimming more profits off the top. All our clients were short sighted enough to only see the profit in signing, and by the time Tamlin destroyed them it was too late. Even then I didn’t think anyone was involved except Tamlin.  


“Mor eventually broached the subject of having a leak. She said there was no way for Tamlin to know how to undercut unless someone was giving him inside information. The only people who knew the details of all contracts were me, her, and Amarantha.  


“I didn’t believe it. I was so sure Tamlin was just guessing lucky, but then Lucien…  


“Lucien told me what Tamlin and Amarantha were up to. I still don’t know why. I think it was some sort of apology for what his brother had done to Mor, but maybe it was because he was a good man and we were friends. But I believed him. Az helped me hack Amarantha’s computer and all the evidence was there. Not only was she selling information, but she had been embezzling for months and altering the books to cover it up. Illyrian Night was on the brink of ruin and she was just going to let it and go work for Tamlin. She probably would’ve done the same thing to him eventually.  


“I didn’t even get the chance to tell Mor what had happened before she came home that night. I was expecting a blow up fight, broken things, kicking her out. We’d always been very… passionate. That’s kind of what I loved about her. We drove each other crazy but we always came back for more. But instead of fighting me she...  


“She…” he couldn’t say it. His throat was closing up at the memory, the only thing keeping him in the present was Feyre’s hand. Rhys couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.  


“I was drunk and I couldn’t fight her off,” he continued not even caring about the tears streaming down his face, “She left without even saying anything, and whatever she was doing she got into a car accident.”  


“And she died,” Feyre said. There was something strange in her voice, something detached and distracted. Not at all the tone Rhys was expecting. Something was wrong. _Something was wrong_.  


“Feyre?” even though his soul was laid bare he was only concerned with her. When she turned to him her eyes were glassy and she was pale.  


“Feyre?” he said again, but she was somewhere else. Somewhere far away, somewhere he couldn’t reach. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek, but Feyre flinched away from him. His heart split in two as she ripped her hand from his and practically leapt away. She promised she wouldn’t walk away, she _promised_. When he dared to look in her eyes, he didn’t see anger or disgust. What was in her eyes was infinitely more confusing. He saw shame.  


“I am so sorry.”

* * *

Feyre was liar. She was such a fucking liar. She promised she wouldn’t walk away, but how could she make herself stay?  


Amarantha.  


Feyre hadn’t heard that name in years. Tamlin and Lucien never said it in front of her, as if just hearing the name of the woman she killed would trigger an episode. It very well might have. But she couldn’t escape it now.  


Because Feyre and Rhys had their lives ruined by the same woman. She knew their hearts shared the same trauma, but she never imagined it was _exactly the same_. Feyre almost laughed at the irony of it. Of course this would happen to her. Of course she would be so close to happiness only for it to have a bitter edge. And now Rhys was looking at her like she was dangling him off a cliff and she was about to drop him. That’s exactly what this was, Feyre realized. Because she had to tell him, not could she not after how honest he had been with her? _Be very careful_ , Amren’s voice rang in her head. Feyre almost laughed. Careful, indeed.  


“What could you possibly be sorry about?” All she could see in Rhys’ eyes was confusion and concern. Feyre could only imagine what she must look like right now. Probably like she saw a ghost. That’s what Amarantha had become to her, a ghost. Something in her past Feyre was sure she’d never have to confront again. Thanks to Rhys and his family, Feyre had started to imagine a future where she wasn’t obsessed with her past. She played with her leather bands, a constant reminder that she’d never be truly free.  


“I killed her,” Feyre said simply. There was no reason for her to soften the blow, it was going to destroy them both nonetheless.  
Rhys paled, “What?”  


“I told you I was in a car accident two years ago,” Feyre continued, “Someone hit me, and she died and I lived and I never stopped feeling so goddamn _guilty_.” Feyre almost spit the words. She was so fucking angry. Not at Rhys, never at Rhys. But at that woman. Amarantha, who even beyond the grave was ruining him.  


Realization dawned in his eyes as they snapped back to hers. Horror and shame. A connection neither of them could have guessed and had no idea how to deal with.  


“Then her mother?” he began.  


“Stalked me. Hurt me.” she continued. Before she could think about it, Feyre snapped her leather bands off and presented her wrists, “Made me do this.”  


Rhys starred at her scars for a long beat. There was no mistaking the uniform horizontal cuts faded with time, but still so damning. Feyre found out later it was more effective to cut vertically, and at that point she was glad she wasn’t dead. The only thing in her past that she was truly ashamed of, and this wasn’t even close to the way she wanted to tell him. She was shocked to realize she had wanted to tell him at all, but she did. Feyre wanted Rhys to know everything about her, she wasn’t afraid he would walk away, wasn’t afraid he would judge her. She just wanted it to be on her own terms, not like this.  


“Say something,” Feyre begged. But Rhys just kept starring at her. Ever so gently he reached out and grabbed her hand. Feyre ached to pull away, to hide her scars, but she let him. He brushed his thumb over the rough scar tissue once. Twice. Then he did the same with her other wrist. He still didn’t say anything and Feyre didn’t dare break whatever spell they were under. Any moment he’d blame her the same way she’d blamed herself. Amarantha had been horrible to him, had violated him in the most fundamental way. But because of Feyre she was dead, and Rhys would never get the closure he needed.  


“Say something,” she whispered again, not trusting her voice not to break at its full volume. Not trusting him not to break. Finally, finally he looked back up at her eyes. Where she expected to see her own emptiness mirrored, his were filled with life. They were bright with a determination that Feyre didn’t understand.  


She didn’t get a chance to ask before he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings this chapter for self harm

Rhys thought the decision to kiss her again would be harder considering he’d been fighting his body everyday not to.  


But in reality, kissing her was as natural as breathing even though this wasn’t even close to how he wanted it to happen.  


But it was happening. Rhys was kissing her, and after the briefest hesitation Feyre was kissing him back. This wasn’t like last time, when Rhys’ wine soaked body responded messily and sluggishly to hers. Now, he was completely in control of both his body and his mind. Each caress of his tongue and touch of his hands was calculated, exploring and curious. Amarantha didn’t even touch this kiss even though she had prompted it.  


Because this changed _nothing_ with them.  


Rhys was irrevocably in love with her, and no shared past was going to change that. It was going to hurt, and it was eventually going to hit him with full force, but it didn’t matter. He loved her and she was here and alive and _kissing him_.  


Then she wasn’t.  


Just as suddenly as she’d given in, Feyre was pulling away and there was devastation in her eyes.  


“What are you doing?” she asked.  


“I don’t care,” Rhys replied, “I don’t care about Amarantha, or your past. All I care about is that we have a future.”  


A future where they could just be Rhys and Feyre. A future without Tamlin or the Night name looming over them. All he wanted was her, but she was inching away from him.  


“Feyre, this doesn’t change anything.”  


“This changes everything,” she replied as she got out of his reach, “I killed your girlfriend.”  


Rhys flinched at the bluntness of it, “No,” he insisted, “You told me the accident wasn’t your fault. What changed?”  


“Everything’s changed, Rhys,” she replied, “This is too much.”  


Rhys' heart caved in. She promised not to walk away, but that was exactly what she was doing. She was turning her back on him and there was nothing Rhys could do to stop it. He had played his last card and it hadn’t worked.  


Up until now, he could hide behind his cowardice. She couldn’t reject him when he never tried to win her in the first place. But now…  


He’d tried. And she left anyways.  


Rhys let his tears freely fall as he heard the bedroom door shut. 

* * *

It took nearly half an hour for Feyre to realize she’d left her leather bands in the living room. She felt so naked without them, but how could she retrieve them? She couldn’t face the devastation in Rhys’ eyes. It almost broke her to walk away, but what else could she have done? She had barely been holding herself together the past few weeks. Just when she thought nothing in life could surprise her, something like this came up.  


Amarantha.  


The Amarantha that had hurt Rhys, betrayed him then _hurt him_ was the same as the woman Feyre killed.  


It wasn’t her fault. Feyre knew that logically, but the problem was she couldn’t think about it logically. Amarantha had hit her and Feyre had lived while she died. She had spent hours trapped in her flipped car while she watched Amarantha slowly bleed out. It was a secluded road and there was no one to help her. It was dumb luck that someone had eventually found her at all. She hardly felt lucky now. It had left her with severe claustrophobia, a panic disorder, and enough survivor’s guilt to last a lifetime.  


Whenever she thought about the accident itself, all she could see was Amarantha begging for help. Begging Feyre, or god, or someone else entirely. And Feyre couldn’t help her, she couldn’t even move. She was bruised and bloodied and couldn’t get out of her car. That didn’t stop Amarantha from asking though. And when her mother had gotten ahold of Feyre’s statement in the police report… how her daughter had begged and Feyre did nothing.  


That was the last time Feyre had known peace. And after a year of stalking and abuse, of thinking that woman would kill her any time she was alone, the box cutter against her wrist had been a relief. Finally, she was going to be free. She shouldn’t have gotten out of that car, and now Amarantha’s mother would find peace and Tamlin would be able to move on. The world would be a better place without Feyre in it. That’s what she thought as she climbed into bed and let herself bleed.  


She hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. Not since before she met Mor.  


But now she had looked Rhys in the eyes and saw everything he’d lost, what Feyre had taken away. If she had been driving slower, if she had been paying more attention. Rhys couldn’t be angry at a dead woman, he’d been forced to mourn her as a boyfriend when she had completely broken him. Feyre had done that.  


And then he kissed her and told her it didn’t matter.  


He was a liar.  


Maybe it didn’t matter to him now, not tonight. But eventually he would turn on her. Just like Tamlin had, just like her father had. Just like everyone she loved eventually did.  


Feyre felt the familiar itch to drag a blade across her skin. She needed her bands, now, even if it meant facing Rhys. She steeled herself for that betrayal and crawled out of bed.  


She crept carefully as she saw him asleep on the couch. The worry lines that normally pulled on his face were smoothed in slumber. He looked unburdened and beautiful, not at all what he looked like when he had to deal with Feyre.  


Feyre couldn’t help but run a feather light hand through his hair, “I’m sorry,” she murmured as she grabbed her bands from the floor. As she turned back, a familiar and rough hand grabbed hers.  


“Don’t be sorry,” he said, “Just don’t leave.”  


“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized as she tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was firm. Firm and sure, but not meant to hurt. Not meant to restrain, just to get her to stay long enough to hear him out.  


Rhys sat up and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He let Feyre go, convinced she at least wouldn’t bolt. And she didn’t. As Rhys slid down from the couch and sat next to her on the floor she maintained eye contact with him even as everything inside of her was screaming to run. Honesty, they had promised each other honesty.  


“I don’t care about Amarantha,” Rhys said as evenly as he could manage, but Feyre could still hear the tension in it. Lying. He was lying.  


“Yes you do,” she replied.  


“Not when it comes to you,” he insisted, “I don’t want her ruining anything else for me.”  


“I’m already ruined,” she said.  


“So am I.”  


“Then what do we do?” Feyre searched his eyes for some way out of this mess, but there was no solution there. There wasn’t a way to fix this, there was just them.  


“We move on,” he said, “Together.”  


And this time when Rhys kissed her, she didn’t pull away. 

* * *

Rhys kissed her knowing this might be the last time he ever got to do it. She looked ready to bolt at any moment, and this time Rhys would let her. If she wasn’t ready for this, there was nothing Rhys could do make her stay. This was his last shot, so he kissed her knowing it had to be good enough to last a lifetime.  


“Are you sure?” Feyre asked when he pulled away. She didn’t let his hands go, she didn’t move away.  


“Yes,” Rhys breathed, not quite allowing himself to believe this was truly happening.  


“If…” she began as she played with the collar on his shirt, “If you want to stop, just tell me.”  


Rhys only nodded softly as their lips connected again. If their first kiss all those weeks ago had been a wild fire, this was like a candle. It was slow, and contained and more than anything it was warm. It was like they had all the time in the world, so what was the point of rushing?  


Rhys realized they might just have all the time in the world. If he got what he wanted, they would have an entire lifetime together. He didn’t let himself think about that not being true as he just enjoyed the simple pleasure of her lips caressing his and her hair in his hands.  


“Okay?” she asked against his mouth as she moved to unbutton his shirt. Rhys responded by brushing the straps of her tank top aside and kissing her shoulders, her collar bone, every bit of her that was bare. As Feyre pushed his shirt off, Rhys leaned forward until she was underneath him. He was in complete control right now, Feyre was letting him set the pace.  


He moved his hands to roam under her shirt as he left unhurried kisses on her throat. He catalogued every noise she made, which touches made her breath hitch. By the time he was done, Feyre’s breathing was labored and heavy. Rhys smiled at the thought that he was the reason for it.  


“Okay?” she asked as she sat up with him. Instead of answering verbally, he moved to pull her shirt over her head. Feyre obliged and soon he was kissing her again, this time with the skin to skin contact they both craved. Rhys moved a hand to cup her breast through her bra and gave a moan of appreciation at her nipples, hard and straining against the lace.  


“Rhys,” she groaned as he gave her a particularly hard squeeze. He slowly lowered her down to the floor and slid down until he could kiss the valley between her breasts and lick around her belly button. Her breath hitched as he unbuttoned her jeans and ever so slowly peeled them down her legs until she was left in just her underwear. Rhys took a moment to just stare at her nearly naked beneath him. They hadn’t really done anything yet, but both of them were breathing hard and shaking. With nerves or desire, Rhys didn’t know, but his body quaked at the thought of being inside her.  


“What is it?” he asked as he caught a strange look in her eyes.  


"It’s just…” she said carefully, “Tamlin never… Tamlin was never gentle with me. Not like this.”  


Of course. Rhys wasn’t the only who who’d been hurt by sex. Of course she’d be thinking of Tamlin in a moment like this, comparing whether she wanted to or not. Instead of answering, Rhys gave her a small, meaningful smile and kissed her again. 

* * *

Feyre was certain she’d said something wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking about Tamlin right now, but she can’t help it. Her body was wrecked with desire and her mind wandered without her permission, and soon she was thinking about how Tamlin never made her shiver with want even on their best days.  


Sex with Tamlin was pleasant at best. It was almost always the same. She’d once thought it familiar and reliable, but in the wake of Rhys, she realized it had just been boring and bland. Almost like each of them had boxes to check off before they were allowed to each take their pleasure and go to sleep. At worst, it was forced and violent. Feyre had never outright said no to him, but most of the time her heart wasn’t in it and he used her body however he pleased.  


But with Rhys, everything was new and exciting. Every brush of his hands left her on fire and she was desperate to feel him everywhere and for him to stop just so her senses could catch a break. Rhys must have been able to read that in her eyes, because he stopped and asked what was wrong. That was another thing Tamlin would never do. Once they began, he didn’t stop, no matter how far away Feyre’s mind was from her body. She’d wondered more than once if she’d never said no for fear that he wouldn’t actually stop even if she did.  


Feyre couldn’t bring herself to lie, not when Rhys was the last person on the planet who would care, so she confessed that it was never like this with Tamlin. Where she expected to see anger, Rhys only looked at her softly and kissed her again. Soon, he began teasing the hemline of her panties and god, she must’ve been soaked because he brushed moisture down her thighs with a smirk that would’ve been annoying if the evidence of her pleasure wasn’t so damning.  


Without preamble, Rhys slid down her body again and pushed her panties down her legs then she couldn’t do anything but _feel_.  


It’d been years since she had truly good sex, so naturally she cried out at the first brush of his tongue. Rhys jerked back in surprise as her back immediately arched off the floor, but instead of moving away he just pinned her hips down and attacked her with his mouth.  


Rhys was merciless as he licked her folds with agonizing slowness as if she was his own personal feast. Feyre thought vaguely that he must be enjoying this as much as she was, because he was making small noises of want at the taste of her. But that was ridiculous, because who would ever truly love eating someone out? Tamlin always acted like it was chore to get her off before he could properly fuck her.  


Regardless, Rhys licked her like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do and Feyre was soon begging for release. For him to go faster, harder, _something_ other than licking her ridiculously slow. As if sensing she was at the end of her rope, Rhys moved to her clit and sucked hard as his fingers began to graze her entrance. She jerked at the new sensation and came slowly and intensely after he entered her and almost immediately found her sensitive spot and scraped it irreverently. Rhys didn’t stop fucking her with his hands as she rode out her orgasm and when the final waves were over her, she felt like liquid and she couldn’t bring herself move any of her limbs.  


“You taste so damn good,” he murmured against her thighs. God, he sounded absolutely wrecked even though it was Feyre who just came. Feyre didn’t have the words to describe what that was, so she just gave him an appreciative tug on the hair until he moved back up to her head, giving her soft kisses the whole way up until he settled his head in the space between her neck and shoulders.  


Feyre still couldn’t speak as she ran her nails gently across Rhys bare back. He didn’t make a move to continue even though she could feel the proof of his arousal against her hip.  


“Do you want to…” she trailed off as she gently cupped him through his jeans.  


“Can we wait?” he asked against her neck.  


“Of course,” she replied as she continued trailing her fingers through his hair, “As long as you want.”  


“I do want you, Feyre,” he said seriously, “It’s just… overwhelming.”  


She hadn’t even felt the sting of the rejection, but it was still comforting that he seemed to want her just as much as she wanted him, “I understand, Rhys,” she said, “And if you want to spend our entire relationship giving me oral, I will not complain one bit.”  


Rhys loosed a deep laugh into her shoulder, “I’d be happy giving you oral for the rest of my life, Feyre darling.”  


“Darling?” she quirked an eyebrow at him.  


“I can pick a different pet name,” he said.  


“I like it,” she confessed, “Darling…”  


“Well, darling,” he drawled against her pulse point as his hands moved back to her still slick folds, “Shall I keep true to my word?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing this chapter was in good shape already because I've been laptopless since the last update. I always want to write smut in present tense, so sorry for anything I didn't catch during editing. Let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

Feyre spent most of the weekend naked, which wasn’t what she was expecting but she wasn’t complaining one bit. As promised, Rhys spent much of his time on his knees before her and explored every inch of her with his hands and tongue. Feyre would feel embarrassed by her own neediness and vulgarity if it didn’t still feel sacred to her. It wasn’t just sex, he was learning her in the most personal way he knew how and it made Feyre feel strong and vulnerable all at the same time. She supposed allowing herself to do that is what it meant to be in a meaningful relationship.  


In contrast, Feyre’s exploration of Rhys had remained PG-13 by comparison. She hadn’t even seen Rhys naked, let alone let her hands wonder. He had come once after a particularly satisfying dry humping session, but that was as close as she had gotten to feeling him the way she desperately wanted. She ached to know him the same way he now knew her, but Feyre wouldn’t push him, not on this. Not when it meant so much that they were as intimate as they were after such a short time and after all they had been through.  


For the first time, Feyre felt like she could offer more than just her body with sex, and she wouldn’t trade that for the world.  


Feyre practically begged Rhys to let them stay another few days to feel out their newly established bliss, but the real world called and both of them had to get back.  


“Besides,” he’d said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get you out of my system.” Feyre had rewarded him for that one by kissing him senseless against the cabin door.  


Now they were on their way back and with it, reality was starting to set in. Despite the many orgasms and their afterglow, they hadn’t actually had a conversation on just where their relationship stood. As the mile markers crawled by, Feyre was less and less motivated to actually bring the subject up.  


“So,” Rhys said finally as they pulled up in front of their building, “Should we talk about it?”  


“You waited to do this until literally the last minute?” she laughed. Feyre’s anxiety was significantly cut by the fact that Rhys had not let go of her hand for the whole drive, and now he was brushing his thumb against the back of it. It was too casually intimate too fast and Feyre’s stomach was doing backflips, but in a good way.  


“I didn’t want to break whatever spell we were under,” he admitted. Feyre wanted to kiss him just for having the courage to express what she’d been feeling all day. Feyre realized she could, so she did. When she pulled away, Rhys was looking at her like she had created the stars. His look was very dangerous, Feyre was getting addicted to it.  


“So then?” he asked.  


“I like you, Rhys, a lot,” Feyre admitted, “Probably too much.”  


“Good thing I like you too then,” he replied, “So where does that leave us?”  


“I think that leaves us in a relationship.”

* * *

Rhys thought he was liable to burst from happiness. He hadn’t allowed himself to actually consider the reality of being with Feyre in any meaningful way. Sure, he dreamed of holding her and kissing her, but now he was actually imagining a future together. It was a drug and he was getting addicted.  


The past weekend seemed to be an entirely different world than where they were now. It was still their apartment, but it had turned into theirs as a unit rather than just Rhys and Feyre. Maybe living together right out the gate wasn’t the best idea, but she had lived there for months and it seemed stupid to move just because they were dating now. Besides, he didn’t want her to move out. He quite literally wanted to spend every moment of everyday with her. It was ridiculous. Rhys thought once he had her his desire might subside, but if anything it was getting stronger.  


“I wonder if I’ll every stop wanting you,” he said that night as Feyre laid next to him, her hand splayed against his chest and idly stroking him. They still hadn’t slept together yet, he just wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy, but Feyre didn’t seem to mind.  


“I certainly hope you don’t,” she laughed sleepily. It was entirely too late for them to still be up, but neither wanted to waste a minute of each other by sleeping. Tomorrow was Monday and the real world would have to come crashing back, “I was thinking,” Feyre said as she sat up.  


“Uh oh,” Rhys said. He was finding it terribly difficult to focus on what she was saying when the sheet had slipped down leaving her only covered from the waist down, and her honeyed skin was right in front of him just begging to be kissed.  


“I was thinking we should wait a little while to tell the others,” she said.  


“Why?” Rhys asked. He wanted nothing more than to shout from the rooftops that he was dating Feyre Archeron.  


“It’s just so new,” Feyre replied, “And if… if anything happens, I don’t want to make things weird with them.”  


“You think we’re going to break up?” she had his full attention now.  


“I don’t think anything,” she said, “I just don’t want to change our whole dynamic just for it to change back.”  


“Feyre,” Rhys said carefully, “I promise us dating won’t change anything. I’ve been hung up on you for a year, if anything they’ll be happy they don’t have to deal with me pining over you anymore.”  


Feyre couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “Still, I just want some more time to solidify myself as their friend instead of just ‘Rhys’ Girlfriend’” she said.  


“Call yourself my girlfriend again,” Rhys replied softly. Feyre gave him an amused smile. He was going to give into her, Rhys knew he would. Even if he wanted everyone in the world to know he was dating this amazing woman, if she wanted to wait he would. Instead of answering, she just kissed him, and Rhys thought that was a pretty good consolation. 

* * *

As it turned out, hiding their relationship was going to be a lot harder than Feyre anticipated. The first test came the next morning, when Mor barged in while Feyre was still naked in Rhys’ room. There would have been no explaining that one away. Luckily, Rhys talked her away saying Feyre was at work. Even more luckily, she didn’t mention that Rhys and Feyre had both been gone for days. Rhys told her where he was taking Feyre, but he never told her he ended up staying. Feyre knew she’d be confronted with that eventually, but she’d just deny that anything had happened between them.  


“Honestly, I don’t know how any of them got keys,” Rhys laughed when she was gone.  


“You should change the locks.”  


“It would serve them right,” Rhys laughed.  


The downside to this whole arrangement was that Feyre’s productivity went way down whenever she tried to work at home. And since she didn’t have a studio, that was always. She was also insisting she actually earn the money she had taken from Rhys, and she wasn’t lying when she said she had no idea what she was doing. She had only ever done art for herself and no one else’s approval really mattered to her. But now she had the added pressure of people actually needing to like her work. It was exhausting.  


Of course there were worse problems then being overwhelmed from a job you actually liked and the near constant oral from your new boyfriend.  


Boyfriend.  


She loved the word. She loved that the word referred to Rhys. She didn’t love Rhys, but she was getting there. She definitely liked him a lot more than she was expecting so soon after Tamlin. And it really was so soon after Tamlin.  


Her five year relationship had been over for less than three months. She was going to marry Tamlin, she had relied on him for so much. If she was moving on so quickly, what did that say about her? Most people would say it meant nothing, people move on differently. Her relationship with Tamlin had been over long before they broke up, she saw that now. But still. It made Feyre feel trashy in a way she couldn’t explain. She didn’t owe Tamlin devotion, he had hurt her in more ways than one. She knew this wasn’t something she could talk about with Rhys. Because of her own stupid rule she couldn’t bring it up with Mor. She really had no other choice but to go to her sisters.  


Things with Nesta and Elain had been strained in the past weeks. Feyre had never apologized for calling Nesta stupid and Nesta never demanded an apology. Elain was sure there was too much left unsaid between them when there was fault on both sides and had been trying to get them all to sit down. But whenever Feyre tried she was faced with how stupid she had been. She’d almost ruined them all by being too trusting of someone who clearly wasn’t good for her. It didn’t matter that Tamlin had seemed like the perfect partner in the beginning. She was constantly embarrassed that she didn’t see all the red flags in the beginning of her relationship and seeing her sisters just filled her with guilt.  


But she needed to talk about Rhys like she needed air so she was going to Nesta’s house. When she opened the door, Nesta burst out laughing. The sound was so foreign that Feyre practically jumped out of her skin.  


“What?” Feyre demanded.  


“Is that why you decided you just needed to see us after two weeks of almost nothing?”  


“What?” Feyre asked again.  


“You neck,” she chuckled.  


Feyre pulled out her phone and turned on the camera. Sure enough, on the left side of her neck lived two dark hickeys, damning and unhideable. Rhys had discovered a spot halfway down her throat that made her moan every time he brushed it, so naturally there wasn’t a second of their activities last night that his mouth wasn’t on it. Feyre cursed under her breath. She couldn’t believe Rhys had let her out of the house like that when they were trying to hide their relationship. Well, she was. He was just going along with it. She made a mental note to do some very wicked things to him later tonight to get back at him.  


“So, is that what you wanted to talk about?” Nesta asked as she led Feyre inside. She tried in vain to hide the hickeys with her hair, but it wasn’t thick enough to do anything.  


“It’s related,” she admitted.  


“Don’t bother,” Elain said as she sat, “the only thing that will do the trick is an oil based concealer.” Feyre filed away that piece of information.  


“So talk,” Nesta prompted, “Although I have a suspicion who it is.”  


Feyre was inclined to tell her it was Cass, just to wipe that stupid smirk off her face. Feyre noted every time her sister asked about him. Every time Elain asked about Az, too, though she was less likely to actually make a move. Feyre wasn’t a match maker, so she wouldn’t interfere, but she did think either of them would be lucky to get an Archeron sister. Plus it would deflect from her and Rhys if they were all dating.  


“Rhys and I are sort of together now,” she said.  


Feyre would think she had announced she just won the lottery and the presidency all at once the way Elain stood up and grabbed her. Even Nesta plastered on a genuine smile and offered a hug.  


“Finally!” Elain cried with so much enthusiasm that Feyre couldn’t help but laugh along with them. When they had finally settled down, Feyre remembered her actual purpose for coming.  


“You don’t think it’s too soon?”  


“Too soon?” Nesta said, “I’m surprised you waited this long.”  


“But Tamlin and I just broke up,” Feyre replied, “I feel kind if slutty just going from guy to guy.”  


“Feyre, it’s not like you’re a serial rebounder,” Elain replied, “You’ve only ever been with Tamlin.”  


Feyre crossed her arms, “I’ve had other boyfriends.”  


“No, you’ve had other fuck buddies,” Nesta said, “It’s not the same.”  


“What about Isaac?”  


“Isaac Hale doesn’t count,” Nesta said.  


“I lost my virginity to him!”  


“And that’s all you did with him, you ever even went out on a date with him.”  


“Fine,” she conceded, “But what is your point?”  


“Tamlin is a piece of shit,” Nesta began irreverently, “I think after that, you deserve every bit of happiness you can find. And if Rhys is that happiness, you shouldn’t feel guilty.”  


“Does he make you happy, Feyre?” Elain asked seriously. Elain was unconsciously running her fingers over Feyre’s leather bands. The aftermath of her suicide attempt was the worst time in Feyre’s life. Her sisters had known about the accident and all that came after it, but they weren’t close. They had visited Feyre in the hospital after the accident, but they didn’t know just how deep she was spiraling. They’d trusted Tamlin to take care of her and left it at that. In the moment, she had been so sure no one would care if she’d died. But having to face her sisters in that hospital room, her wrists bandaged and her face pale. Elain burst into tears the moment she saw Feyre, she had grabbed onto her and didn’t let go for their entire visit. Nesta was angry where Elain was sad. She’d never seen her sister more pissed off. Feyre was sure if Elain hadn’t been there, it would have been a screaming match. She honestly hadn’t known her sisters cared, and she had to bear all their emotions knowing she had been in the wrong. It was the first thing that made Feyre realize she’d made a mistake. Not Tamlin or Lucien, but her mostly estranged sisters.  


They had been focused on Feyre’s happiness ever since. Elain learned to read her moods like she was a book in case she ever tried again. It took a long time to earn Nesta’s trust and forgiveness, but they had gotten there. And for the first time in years, Feyre felt like they were all balanced and healthy.  


Feyre thought about the question for a moment. It was all still so new even though she had been living with him for two months. Rhys made her very happy, but it wasn’t just Rhys. She couldn’t think about him without thinking of everything (and everyone) he had given her. She had real friends now, a job, a home that felt like hers. She had independence and someone to lean on when she needed to. Feyre nodded. Yes, Rhys made her very, very happy.  


Their reverie was cut short, however, by the doorbell. From the shadow that spilled across Nesta’s face, Feyre knew exactly who it was.  


“How many times has he come here?” Feyre demanded.  


“Twice,” Nesta admitted.  


“Why didn’t you tell me?” Feyre replied. But she suspected she looked exactly like Nesta did right now. She felt her stomach sinking and her pulse quickening. It didn’t matter how much self-defense she knew or how safe she felt, actually being confronted by Tamlin would always leave her spinning. She suspected that’s exactly why Nesta didn’t tell her. It was the same reason Feyre hadn’t fought as hard as she wanted to about the job. Archeron sisters fought and hurt each other, but they also protected each other above all else, and Nesta wouldn’t let him near Feyre if she could help it.  


“It happened before Rhys gave you the job,” Elain explained, “We didn’t want to involve you any more than necessary.”  


Feyre clasped both their hands, “You are my sisters,” she said, “We’re always involved in each other’s bullshit.” They cracked smiles, however tense they were. That was all the motivation Feyre needed to stand up.  


“What are you doing?” Elain asked.  


“I have the money now,” Feyre said, “Tamlin has nothing over us.”  


Nesta squeezed her hand, “We can go with you,” she offered.  


Feyre appreciated it, but shook her head, “I can’t keep hiding behind other people. Tamlin doesn’t scare me, and he needs to know that.” With that, Feyre went and opened the door. 

* * *

She didn’t know what she was expected.  


She wanted him to look different than he had when they were together. She wanted him to look like the caricature of evil. She wanted him to have a handlebar mustache and pale sunken eyes.  


Instead, Tamlin still looked like the man Feyre had fallen in love with years ago. Handsome in a clean-cut way, the kind of man you’d take home to meet your parents (not in Feyre’s case, of course, but for people who had normal parents). There were dark circles under his eyes and he’d lost weight since she’d left, but he still looked like a golden boy and that pissed Feyre off.  


“What do you want?” she demanded as she crossed her arms. Let him go on the defensive for once.  


“I figured Nesta would have told you,” he replied with sickening curtesy. She wished he would just hurt her and be done with it. She didn’t want to pretend to be civil with her abuser.  


“I am well aware of the problem,” she willed ice into her voice. Feyre worked for his rivals now, this was a business conversation. She would not give him anything else to use against her. Tamlin regarded her for a long moment, seeming to sense the new undercurrent to their conversation but not quite able to place why.  


“Well then,” he said slowly, “I suppose we can negotiate.”  


Tamlin pulled out the engagement ring and it was a battle to not react to the emerald monstrosity. It seemed akin to a prison now, something that would tie her to Tamlin forever. She struggled not to back away from him.  


“That won’t be necessary,” she replied, “I can pay the loan back in full.”  


Feyre would’ve laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Tamlin’s face if it wouldn’t have totally destroyed the persona she was going for. It really was priceless.  


“How?”  


“How I get my money is none of your business,” she snapped. Quick as lighting, Tamlin had her arm in a vice grip and was pulling her off the porch, away from the house and her sisters.  


“It was Night wasn’t it?” he asked. He was close to her, too close, her head was swimming and her stomach was turning making her unable to speak.  


_Think_ , She thought _you know how to get out of this_. But Tamlin’s grip was strong. No amount of twisting broke it. Feyre thought about kneeing him, but she really didn’t want to turn things violent. There was no one around and she refused to cry out in case her sisters heard and got involved. No, she needed to solve this diplomatically. She silently apologized to Az, his training would go to waste this time.  


“Let go of me,” she said coldly, “Now.”  


To her surprise, Tamlin obliged and Feyre resisted the urge to rub the tender flesh around her bicep where he’d held her.  


“I have the money,” Feyre said, “Anything else you need from me you can send through my lawyer at Illyrian Night.”  


Realization dawned on Tamlin’s face. She did indeed get the money from Rhys, but not as a handout as he’d thought. No, she was committing the ultimate betrayal. She was working for his worst enemy and it felt so damn _good._  


“Are you together?”  


“That’s none of your business.”  


“Damnit, Feyre,” Tamlin replied. She’d heard that tone countless times in their relationship. The familiarity of it almost gave Feyre vertigo. It was the tone he used when he was trying to do something for “her own good” and she wasn’t being reasonable. Once upon a time, it had been proof of how much Tamlin loved her, that he was willing to make her angry to keep her safe. Now it was just another reminder of all the bad she refused to ever see, “You don’t know Rhys like I do.”  


“And I didn’t know you like Rhys does, apparently.” She shot back. Feyre might as well have hit him for the way he staggered back.  


“I don’t know what he’s told you,” Tamlin said, “but I promise you it’s not the truth.”  


“Good thing your word doesn’t mean much to me,” Feyre replied with far more nonchalance than she was feeling. In reality, she was aching to ask him about Amarantha, about how much he had kept from her over the years. But if she showed him even a little bit just how much she cared, she would lose. If she gave Tamlin even an inch now, he would take a mile.  


“I’m begging you, Feyre, don’t trust the Nights. They aren’t what they seem.”  


“Rhys is my boyfriend, Tamlin,” Feyre spit, “There is nothing you could say to me that would make me leave him.” Tamlin called her bluff.  


“I told you I’d get you back,” Tamlin warned, “I gave up too much for you just to lose you to that prick. Whatever happens next, Feyre, remember it was you who dragged them into this.


	18. Chapter 18

Feyre was shaking her entire walk home.  


She had won this time, but Amren had been right. Tamlin was nowhere near done. And the next time he hit, Feyre needed to make sure there was no collateral. The longer this went on, the more reckless Tamlin would get and the more people he wouldn’t think twice about hurting. As long as Feyre came back, he didn’t care who got in the way.  


All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and hold Rhys. To kiss him, just to remind herself that she could. He was hers for now, and Feyre did not want to waste a single precious moment of however much time they had. But when she got home, Cass and Mor were over which ruined whatever plans she had with Rhys for the night. A night with her best friends was a pretty nice consolation prize, though.  


Feyre had thankfully stolen a scarf from Nesta to wear home in case anyone had been over to hide her hickies. Rhys raised his eyebrows playfully at the accessory. The prick, he had sent her out like that on purpose. He was definitely going to pay later.  


“You’re home late,” Cass said as she poured herself a generous glass of wine then sat next to him. Rhys gave her an exaggeratedly wounded look at her not sitting next to him, but Feyre wasn’t in the mood to play. She pointedly turned towards Cass and willed her breathing to even out.  


“I had dinner with my sisters,” she said. Not entirely a lie, but not even close to the whole truth. They all seemed to be having fun, and Feyre didn’t want to ruin the mood by bringing her own drama into this house. She’d tell Rhys later and hopefully he’d have a solution.  


It seemed like an eternity before Mor and Cass left. Feyre didn’t want to think of them as distractions for her and Rhys, but all she wanted to do was hold him and they were what was preventing her from doing that. Rhys kept shooting her worried glances, seeming to read something off in her mood. He even went so far as to text her. She told him that’d talk later, and he wasn’t happy, but he did understand. It seemed like the moment Cass and Mor left (Mor back to her girlfriend and Cass god knew where) Rhys was cornering her. Feyre, ever in character, deflected.  


“How could you let me see Nesta looking so trashy?” Feyre replied as she finally removed the scarf. She had been sweating under it for hours, luckily Mor and Cass had been too far gone to mention it staying on.  


“Is that what you’re upset about?” Rhys asked cautiously. He was giving her an out, she realized. Feyre was tempted to take it, but she had promised Rhys honesty and she intended to keep that promise.  


Feyre sighed and squared her shoulders, “Tamlin showed up at Nesta’s. Apparently it’s happened before.”  


“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Rhys asked carefully. Talking about Tamlin was never safe, but it had taken a new dangerous edge since Feyre found out all he’d done to Rhys and his family. She knew the music business was cutthroat, but Tamlin had been Rhys’ friend once upon a time. His betrayal hurt more than Rhys would ever let on.  


“There was nothing to say. I told him he could send anything he needed to my lawyer and to leave me the hell alone.” Not the whole story and Rhys knew it. Rhys carefully uncrossed her arms, where light bruises were forming where Tamlin had grabbed her. Rhys sucked in a breath as she flinched away from his touch.  


“You’re getting a restraining order,” Rhys said in no uncertain tone.  


“On what grounds?” Feyre replied as she softly massaged her bruised flesh.  


“He hurts you, he stalks you, he locked you in a fucking closet, Feyre.”  


“Don’t tell me about Tamlin,” Feyre spit, “I know.”  


“Then why won’t you do anything?”  


“You think I’m doing nothing?”  


“It certainly seems like it.”  


“I am doing my best to keep him the hell away from you,” Feyre cried. What followed was a long moment of silence. Here it was, they would always try to protect each other by pushing the other away. It was unhealthy, it was also the only thing to be done. Standing together would only give Tamlin more fuel. Dealing with things alone would hurt, but it would create less collateral.  


“I don’t need your protection.” They were both such fucking liars.  


“And I don’t need yours,” Feyre replied, “I know that however hard we hit, he will hit back harder and I’m trying really damn hard to make sure I’m the only one who gets hit.” Feyre didn’t realize she’d started crying until Rhys brushed the tears away. He pressed a small kiss to her forehead. A peace offering and Feyre melted into it.  


“You know we’re not going to let you face him alone.”  


“That doesn’t mean I can’t try,” she replied as she carefully unwound herself from his arms. She brushed her tears away quickly and took a deep breath, “You didn’t sign up for this.”  


“Neither did you.”  


Feyre gave a bitter laugh, “No one made me love Tamlin. No one made me stay with him even when things got bad.”  


“Feyre,” Rhys soothed, “You didn’t sign up for any of my bullshit. Neither did Mor or any of the others. But they are my family, and they are on my side no matter what. Let me be there for you.”  


Feyre shook her head. It was easy for him to say when his abuser was dead. There would be no Amarantha coming out of nowhere with a new threat. Tamlin was a problem that would never go away, and Rhys deserved more than that.  


“Don’t decide what’s best for me,” Rhys said as if reading her mind, “I want to be with you, don’t take that choice away from me.”  


Feyre didn’t have the strength to argue anymore, so she let herself sink into Rhysand’s arm. 

 

* * *

Feyre got the email the next morning. It was ridiculously early for her to be up considering how late she had stayed up with Rhys. He was still sleeping soundly next to her when she decided the grab her laptop. She ran an affectionate hand through his hair and left a kiss on his brow as she settled in to get some work done.  


She saw the email from Tamlin first thing. Her stomach dropped the farther she read. Feyre wasn’t a lawyer, but it looked bad. There was no actual message, but the subject line said “We’ll be in touch”. He was using the same formality she’d used as a weapon the day before. She brought their profession lives into it, and that was how he was fighting back. Attached to the email were dozens of PDFs. She only needed to look at the first few to get the gist of what he was doing. Document after document of Illyrian Night’s expenses, bank statements, profit reports. All of them incriminating Rhys and Mor for Amarantha’s embezzlement. Her heart was hammering so loud she didn’t know how Rhys didn’t wake up next to her.  


Rhys.  


She had to get out of this house before he saw this. She soundlessly pulled on fresh clothes and tied her hair up in a messy bun. She gave Rhys a final kiss on the temple softly enough that she wouldn’t wake him and was out the door in under five minutes.  


Feyre could handle Tamlin, she could fix this. She could fix this before anyone else got hurt by it. That wasn’t going to be her last night with Rhys, everything was going to be okay. Even as Feyre thought it, she knew it was a lie. Feyre knew nothing about the Spring Court or Illyrian Night, not really. She barely knew her own work. She was in way over her head, so she went to the only person she knew wouldn’t turn around and tell Rhys what she was up to.  


“It is 5:30 in the morning, this better be important,” Amren said. She didn’t sound like had been sleeping, but her annoyance was clear nonetheless.  


"I’m coming over,” was all Feyre said. Amren must have understood the urgency because she didn’t argue and gave her address. It was a far walk, but one Feyre needed to get her thoughts in order.  


Feyre had her laptop open the moment Amren opened the door. She wordlessly took it and quickly skimmed through everything Tamlin had sent. Her face revealed nothing, but her taps on the keyboard became more forceful the more she read. When she was finally done, she turned to Feyre.  


“What do you want me to say?”  


"Tell me it’s not as bad as I think it is,” Feyre replied.  


“I’m not going to lie for your comfort, girl,” she snapped, but her heart wasn’t in it. It was bad.  


“What do I do?” Feyre replied.  


“We,” Amren corrected, “What do we do?”  


“No,” Feyre replied, “What do _I_ do.”  


“You came to me for a reason,” Amren said, “Not Rhys or Mor. We are in this together now.”  


“Then give me a solution.”  


“You know the solution.”  


Feyre did, “I can’t go back to Tamlin.”  


“I know,” Amren said soothingly, “but that is exactly what you’re going to do. Because you came here instead of telling Rhys.”  


Feyre considered her words. She was right, Feyre knew she was right. Not just right now, but her warning from last week rang true. She wouldn’t let Tamlin destroy everything Rhys and Mor had built. It was their baby, their livelihood. The business was everything to them. There was only one thing Tamlin wanted and Feyre was the only one that could give it to him.  


“Do you want my unsolicited advice?”  


“Please,” Feyre prompted.  


“This is a last ditch effort,” she began, “This is his last card, and it’s a good one. So let him play it. Let him think he’s won for a bit.”  


“He is winning, Amren,” Feyre replied.  


“You’re not thinking about the long game. He’s losing and he knows it,” she continued, “He might get you back physically, but your heart is here. He knows that. So keep fighting him.”  


“What do you mean?”  


“Leave Rhys, move out. But don’t move back in with him,” Amren said, “He wants you away from Rhys more than he wants you with him.”  


“And your point is?”  


“He expects you to fully give in, because that’s what you did when you were dating,” Amren said, “Give him enough that he can’t use this, but don’t give him everything.”  


“And if he releases this anyways?” Feyre gestured to the computer.  


Amren gave her a wicked, predatory grin that made Feyre’s blood run cold, “Then we hit him back harder.”

* * *

Feyre and Amren spent the better part of two hours making a game plan. She detached herself from her feelings, she had too because she was about to do the unthinkable. She knew Rhys would come back at her with all the reasons this was an insane plan, so she and Amren thought through them all. Feyre was impressed with how calculated Amren could be sometimes. She spoke bluntly and coldly, and Feyre appreciated every second of it. It made her feel like she was making a business deal rather than signing her life away.  


“That’s because you are,” Amren said, “You are negotiating a deal, never forget that.”  


“Yeah, but the collateral is my life,” Feyre replied dryly.  


Her next move was to talk to Lucien. This was the riskiest part of her plan. If she confessed everything and he turned right around and sold her out, it was over. Amren tried to talk her out of getting his help, but Feyre couldn’t do this alone. She was going right into the heart of her enemy’s territory and she needed allies on the inside. Despite everything, Feyre still believed that Lucien was on her side. Tamlin had hurt him to, and Feyre had to believe there was some part of Lucien that wanted to get away from him.  


So she showed up at his house unannounced with copies of everything Tamlin had sent her.  


“I need your help,” was all she said before outlining the plan and his part in it. Lucien didn’t say anything when she was done, he only stared blankly at her.  


“When did your life become a spy novel?” he asked. Feyre smiled despite herself.  


“Tamlin thinks he can get anything he wants because he’s rich and powerful,” Feyre said, “He’s controlled us for too long.”  


“He’ll figure it out,” Lucien said.  


“Not if you’re helping me,” Feyre said.  


“You are talking about destroying a major company. There is no way this will work, Feyre.”  


“You know the Spring Court doesn’t deserve any of what it has,” Feyre continued, “Tamlin has lied, cheated and stolen his way to millions. Why shouldn’t we do the same?”  


“Maybe Tamlin deserves this, but the Spring Court employs hundreds of people. They’ll all lose their jobs when the Spring Court falls. Don’t you care about them?”  


“Tamlin doesn’t, why should I?” Feyre replied coldly. In actuality, she and Amren had considered this. With Illyrian Night still ridiculously understaffed from what Amarantha had done, they could hire whoever from the Spring Court wasn’t loyal to Tamlin.  


Lucien was quiet for a long moment, “What have they done to you?”  


“What?” Feyre asked, color draining from her face.  


“This isn’t you, Feyre,” Lucien insisted, “What has Rhys done to you?”  


Feyre stood abruptly. He didn’t understand, of course he wouldn’t, “You don’t have to help me,” she said, “But don’t you ever imply it was Rhys that did this. Rhys saved me.”  


“You don’t know him like I do.”  


“Maybe not,” she allowed, “But I do know Tamlin. You know what he’s done to me, to _us_.”  


“I know what he turned into,” Lucien insisted, “But he wasn’t always like that, you know that.”  


“I didn’t think so either,” Feyre said softly, “But every moment of our relationship has been a lie, Lucien. We hadn’t even been dating for a year when he made Nesta sign that contract. Tamlin has been making plans to keep me for a very long time. Who knows what he’s got on you?”  


“Where do I go after this?” Lucien replied, “You have Rhys, but I’ll be blackballed from any other label.”  


“It might not mean much,” Feyre replied genuinely, “But you will always have a place with me.”  


Lucien shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch, “This is crazy, you realize that right?”  


“This is my life,” Feyre replied, “I don’t want to be doing this, but Tamlin’s left me no other choice.”  


“You’re going to do this without or without me, aren’t you?”  


“It’d be a lot easier with you,” Feyre said.  


“Is that what you see me as now? An ally against Tamlin?”  


“No,” she said vehemently.  


“You come here asking me to destroy something I’ve worked all my life for, what am I supposed to think Feyre?”  


She took a deep breath and gripped his hands in her own, “You are my best friend, Lucien. What Tamlin did doesn’t change that. I was so worried I was going to lose you too when I left Tamlin. But you believed me and you told me you loved me, and I thought maybe everything would be okay. You know if the roles were switched, I’d do the same thing for you. I love you, Lucien, and eventually Tamlin will turn on you too. Yes, I want you as an ally, but I want you more as my friend and I want you to be free.”  


“I only told him where you were staying because I thought it’s what you would’ve wanted.” There it was, this thing that had been hanging between them for weeks. It didn’t scare Feyre as much as she thought it would.  


“I know,” Feyre replied.  


“I do love you. But I also love him.”  


“I know,” Feyre repeated. Lucien saying no had been a very real possibility, but it stung nonetheless.  


“I don’t think I can help you, Feyre. I love you, but I owe Tamlin too much” he said, “But I won’t get in your way.”  


Feyre nodded in understanding. It wasn’t ideal, but definitely not the worst case scenario. Lucien had been with Tamlin for a decade. If Feyre had been in deep, Lucien was forever tied to him. Feyre knew that wouldn’t been undone overnight. She gave Lucien a sad smile, knowing someday he’d realize everything Tamlin had done. The sting on not being enough hurt worse than the reality of going into the Spring Court without a real ally. Still, Feyre gave his hand a final squeeze and left. It was as good a first step as any. 

* * *

She went to Mor next. Telling Lucien had been a risk, but this felt infinitely more dangerous to Feyre. If Mor shut her down, she’d go straight to Rhys. She was going to do this without or without their approval, but having their support could make or break this plan.  


“Where have you been?” Mor grumbled when she opened the door at 11 AM. It seemed like Feyre had woken her even though it was well into the day, “Rhys has been calling me nonstop.”  


“Sit down.” Feyre said seriously as she made her way to Mor’s couch.  


“Are you dying? Are you pregnant?” Mor asked. She was trying to make light of whatever this was, but Feyre wasn’t in the mood for it.  


“I saw Tamlin yesterday,” she began, “He came to Nesta’s for the money, and he did his normal ‘I’ll get you back spiel’ when I had it.”  


“And?”  


“And he’s getting me back,” Feyre replied. She produced the files he had sent her, all of them framing Mor and her cousin for Amarantha’s crimes. Mor stared at her, unable to speak.  


“You can’t go back.”  


“I can’t let him to this to you.”  


Mor shoved the papers aside and held intense eye contact with Feyre, “I don’t give a fuck about the business.”  


“You’re a liar. I know you love it, and I won’t let him take it from you.” Feyre said, “Besides, we’re talking about federal crimes, Mor. You will not get sent to prison for me.”  


“He will kill you,” Mor said, tears filling her eyes.  


“I am so much stronger now that when I was with him,” Feyre said.  


“I don’t mean metaphorically,” Mor snapped, “He will literally kill you, Feyre. He locked you in his fucking closet.”  


“Mor,” Feyre said carefully, “I have a plan.”  


“Well thank god, you have a plan,” she deadpanned.  


“Amren said-”  


“You went to _Amren_ ,” Mor almost yelled, “No wonder you’re set on a suicide mission.”  


“I went to Amren because she is the only one who can look at this objectively.”  


“You went to Amren before me?”  


“I went to Amren, then Lucien now I’m here. Amren is going to tell Az and Cass, then I’ll go to Rhys.”  


“And you’re going to Rhys last because you know he will never go for it.”  


“I don’t care,” Feyre lied, “He doesn’t control me.”  


“You know that’s not what this.”  


“What this is,” Feyre gestured to the papers, “Is Tamlin’s last move. Amren and I have a plan, and you are going to help me, because the alternative is I go in alone. Please, Mor, he will listen to you.”  


Mor sighed and Feyre knew she had her, “What’s the plan?”

 

* * *

Rhys woke at 7 am alone. Feyre’s side of the bed was cold, so she must have been up before dawn. He shot her a quick text, which she didn’t respond to. He wondered where he was so early, but he wasn’t worried.  


Instead he laid back down and contemplated everything that had happened in the past few days. He couldn’t help smiling despite their fight last night. Smiling alone at the crack of dawn, he must look like such an idiot. Rhys couldn’t bring himself to care.  


Rhys had thought he’d known love. He thought he’d loved Amarantha. But there was always a fire burning between them that threatened to overcome them both. Rhys thought it was passion, proof that he loved her so much he was liable to destroy himself for it. But now that he knew Feyre…  


They had fights, aggressive screaming matches even. But the difference was in the after math. He and Feyre simply _talked_ about everything, even if it was days or weeks later. He and Amarantha would fight then the next day they’d have sex and act like everything was fine. When there was something between Feyre and him, Rhys felt like he was dying until it was out in the open.  


Rhys felt like he was dying a lot of the time these days, but in the best way possibly. If he thought Feyre’s looks used to set him on fire, the way she touched him… Rhys was coming apart at the seams and he was loving every second of it. He’d expected Feyre to come home last night with murder in her eyes for Rhys not telling her about the hickies. The most possessive part of him needed those marks out in the open. He needed people to see that she was claimed, even if they couldn’t know by who. That, of course, was male bullshit. Rhys had no claim on her, he knew that. But seeing his love marks on her neck filled him with a deep sense of pride. He’d take the ass beating from her willingly.  


But the moment she’d come through the door, she’d looked all wrong. The past few days she had been practically glowing with happiness, and Rhys’ heart was bursting to know he was the cause of it. But he saw the demons in her eyes the second she’d walked through the door. He cursed her stupid rule that Mor and Cass couldn’t know when all he wanted to do was hold her. He’d sent her small touches and glances all night, all of which she quickly deflected.  


He’d thought stupidly that the money would be the last they would ever see of Tamlin. Stupid to think Rhys could always protect her, that Feyre would ever accept his protection. But she’d had to face him alone again, and he was furious even if he understood why she hadn’t told him. They’d gone to bed together, holding each other even with the undercurrent of tension between them. And he’d woken up alone.  


It was 10 AM now, which meant that Feyre had been gone at least three hours. Probably more, if the coldness of her side of the bed was any indication. More worrying was that she had left her bag, and with it her wallet. It had not been unheard of for Feyre to just disappear, but the sudden reappearance of Tamlin was setting Rhys on edge.  


“Hello?” Mor said sleepily when she picked up the phone after three rings. Rhys bit back a crack about how she was sleeping her life away.  


“Have you heard from Feyre?”  


“No?” Mor replied, “It’s 10 in the morning. She’s probably at work.”  


“Without her keys?” or leaving long earlier but he couldn’t tell Mor that without breaking the stupid rule. He was almost worried enough to do it, but when Feyre came back fine it would just start another argument.  


So, the hours past and Rhys only got more worried. He called everyone several times throughout the day, and soon an undercurrent of tension was flowing through his inner circle. He would look like such a paranoid idiot when she came back, but until then his anxiety was eating him alive and he was taking everyone else down with him.  


“She’s not back?” Mor asked when he called her again around 5 PM. It was so subtle Rhys almost missed it, but there was something different in Mor’s voice. If he didn’t know her so well, he wouldn’t have noticed, but she was hiding something.  


“What do you know?” Rhys demanded. He was already grabbing his keys to head over to her apartment.  


Mor’s voice was thick with tears. What the hell had happened between last night and now? Where the _hell_ was Feyre? “She’ll be back soon,” Mor said, “Just wait for her.”  


“Like hell I will,” Rhys growled. As Rhys prepared to leave, however, the door opened and there was Feyre. She looked exhausted, but not hurt otherwise. He took a split second to take stock of her appearance. Dark circles under her eyes, the slight tracks of tears down her cheeks. She looked like she got dressed in a hurry this morning and she was holding bags upon bags of groceries. When he reached her eyes, they looked vacant. He thought vaguely that she looked like Amarantha, cold and calculating. Her heart was far from her, and it made Rhys’ stomach sink.  


“Where have you been?” Rhys murmured. There was a single moment that Feyre looked at him and he could see everything that had gone wrong today. But then Rhys blinked and it was gone. Whatever was haunting her was replaced by a cheerful, obviously plastered on smile. The moment after that she was launching herself at him, and Rhys was so startled he could barely grab her waist before her lips were on his. When she finally pulled away, too much was going through Rhys head to latch onto one thing, “What’s wrong?” Rhys asked as he brushed some wayward hairs off of her face.  


“Nothing,” she lied, “I just missed you.”  


“You could’ve called me back,” Rhys said, “Or not left at the crack of dawn.”  


“I was busy,” she shrugged as she kissed him again.  


“As nice as this is,” he murmured against her lips, “I would like to know where you were and why you couldn’t call me back.”  


“I was with a client then I was with Lucien.”  


“Did Lucien do something?” Rhys asked.  


“He was just being Lucien,” she said, “But yes, it was a long day. But I brought groceries!” she listed up her bags with a little too much enthusiasm, but Rhys took the bait.  


“You can’t cook,” Rhys smirked.  


“But you can.”  


“You abandon me all day then demand I make you dinner?”  


“I am _asking_ you make _us_ dinner because I want to go out later,” she said.  


“You never want to go out,” Rhys said warily.  


“I thought we could give it a try,” Feyre said, “I also invited the others.”  


“So I’m taking my girlfriend out after cooking against my will and I can’t even act like she’s my girlfriend?” Feyre was smiling at him with a slightly chaotic look in his eyes, and he was insanely curious but also a little bit afraid of it.  


“I think Mor will be a little confused if you act like I’m not your girlfriend,” Feyre said.  


Rhys’ heart skipped a beat. Had she… “And why is that?” he asked.  


“Because I told her. And I’m sure she told the others.”  


Rhys was smiling despite himself. Whatever game Feyre was playing, if it meant they could finally go out in public he decided he would enjoy it. And whatever the fall out was, Rhys would deal with that when he wasn’t liable to burst with happiness. Just because he could, Rhys spun her around as he kissed her, “You will be the death of me, Feyre Archeron,” he laughed against her neck.  


There was a split second where her eyes grew dark, but before Rhys could fully process it, it was gone again and she was laughing. Rhys thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, “Will you please make dinner so I can get ready, I told Mor we’d meet them for a drink at Rita’s.”  


Rhys placed a kiss against her brow, “Of course, Feyre Darling.” As he watched her walk away, Rhys was torn between his happiness and the distinct impression that if things were this good, they were about to fall apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a long one, so thank you so much for sticking with me. Let me know what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

Feyre was aware that this was possibly the cruelest thing she had ever done. Rhys wouldn’t forgive her for this, and that was what she was counting on. She was betting on the assumption that Rhys’ love wasn’t unconditional and he would be so angry he’d let her go long enough to set her plan in motion. Convincing Rhys was different than convincing Lucien or Mor. Rhys could very well talk her out of this. Lucien was right, taking down the Spring Court from the inside was suicide, but Tamlin had forced her hand.  


Amren had told her she’d need to have a foolproof plan to get Rhys on board. Feyre had been the one to suggest not getting Rhys on board at all. It was the one thing Amren had been hesitant about. Not breaking the law, or putting Feyre in danger. Purposefully hurting Rhys had been the line, but it was Feyre’s plan and she knew this was the only way to pull it off.  


So she’d give herself one last night with Rhys, to love him and be with him. Then tomorrow, she’d leave. By the time he forgave her (if he forgave her) it would be too late. Feyre would be in too deep and Rhys would either be forced to help or turn his back on her. The latter was a very real possibility, but it was a price Feyre was willing to pay for his life.  


She’d told Mor about this part of the plan in the vaguest details, just enough to ensure Mor wouldn’t tell Rhys anything. She thought Feyre would figure out the logistics with Rhys later. Feyre was aware she’d be losing her entire family in one fell swoop, and it broke her heart, but there was no other choice to make. If Feyre didn’t come back, Tamlin would destroy them all. Feyre had called him that afternoon and they were meeting tomorrow.  


Tonight was the last night of Feyre’s life.  


So she bought groceries and she asked Mor to get everyone together. They were going to go to Prythian, where their fates had first intertwined and she was going to wear that midnight blue dress she knew Rhys liked. She was going to dance, and laugh and love. Then she was going to leave them all to save them.  


It made Feyre despicable and selfless all at the same time and she hated this was what she had to do. She was breaking the most fundamental rules of her relationship and there would be no coming back from it. Feyre had come too close to breaking the very moment she’d seen all the concern and love in his eyes, but she only needed to remind herself of everything that was at stake before she hid her hurt behind smiles and laughs. Deceiving him broke her, but she was selfish. She needed this last night of happiness to keep her going for however long she’d had to be with Tamlin.  


Half an hour later she was out of the shower with her makeup done. She hadn’t donned the dress yet, she wanted to wait until the last moment to unveil that particular surprise. Feyre had decided if she let herself have even a single idle moment, she would cave. So rather than sitting with her thoughts, she approached Rhys, who was cooking something that smelled delicious and hadn’t been alerted to her presence.  


Ever so gently, she approached him and wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned her head against his back. She couldn’t see his face, but Feyre could feel the smile in his voice and it broke her heart.  


“You know, darling,” he said, “I could get used to this.”  


“So could I,” she wasn’t laughing. In fact, Feyre furiously willed the tears out of her eyes and just squeezed Rhys tighter. Before Rhys could question her, she pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck and felt him shiver against her.  


“Feyre,” he warned.  


“Hmmm,” she muttered as she peppered kisses down the nape of his neck.  


“We have plans,” he said.  


“We have an hour,” she murmured, “I can make that work.”  


Rhys let out a deep laugh and whipped around so she was pressed against the counter. It took Feyre’s breath away, but Rhys was merciless. He ran his hands under the loose shirt (his shirt) she had put on and pressed his hips against hers, “How romantic.” Feyre couldn’t help but laugh with him, but the air was stolen from her lungs as he latched onto her pulse point and bit gently.  


“Oh, Rhys,” she moaned. For just a moment, all thoughts of her leaving were forgotten as Rhys’ hands moved under the waist band of her sweats. Only Rhys would make her feel attractive in his oversized clothes.  


“Are you going to tell me what all this is about?” Rhys breathed against the shell of her ear.  


“Can’t I just want to surprise my boyfriend?” she asked breathily, words were starting fail her at the tantalizingly slow exploration of Rhys’ fingers.  
“Not when you were so hell bent on keeping us a secret,” he laughed. Feyre didn’t have a response, so she just let his ministrations continue until they were rudely interrupt by whatever Rhys was making boiling over.  


“Shit,” he muttered as he cruelly removed his hand from her underwear. Feyre ached at the absence and gave a truly pathetic whine as her budding orgasm subsided.  


“Tease,” she grumbled as she perched on the counter top as he tried to salvage whatever was smoking in the pot.  


“You’re the one who came out here looking like that!”  


“I’m wearing sweats?”  


_“My sweats,”_ he clarified, “And my shirt. How could I not be turned on by that?”  


The declaration made Feyre’s heart flutter, so she rewarded him with a kiss. If he was getting all bothered about sweats, he had no idea what he was in for tonight. 

* * *

Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but overbearingly enthusiastic was not one of them. She was funny, and mean and a little bit of a prick and that’s why Rhys loved her. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the woman before him. Something had either gone very wrong or very right, and Rhys had no choice but to go along for the ride.  


So they ate dinner and exchanged kisses and playful touches, and Rhys felt the beginnings of dread creeping up in his stomach. But whatever this night was, it was important to Feyre, so he played along as best he could.  


At some point, he stopped pretending. Probably the moment she came out of their room wearing that delicious midnight blue dress he had first met her in. He was struck dumb by the nostalgia and the desire coursing through him, and Feyre’s smirk told him that was the desired effect. They barely made it out of the house. Rhys was content to ravish her against the door, but Feyre insisted that Mor was waiting for them, “She’ll understand,” Rhys growled as he dragged his teeth against her collarbone. Feyre let out a breathy laugh but pushed him off anyways.  


Even though it was January, it was a pleasant night. The slight crispness of the night was the only think keeping Rhys in control of his senses, the air burning his throat just enough that he wasn’t overwhelmed by Feyre. They made pleasant chatter and exchanged chaste kisses. She looked almost a mirror image of how she looked in Prythian, but so much happier.  


“The dress almost doesn’t fit me,” Feyre said when she caught his gaze, “I’ve gained so much weight with you.” Rhys didn’t have a response for that, so he gripped her hand tighter and marveled at how she was walking gracefully in those heels.  


The scene Rhys walked into was one out of his dreams. Mor saw them first, and leapt up to embrace them both, “I’m so happy for you,” she breathed against Rhys’ neck. He noted that she squeezed Feyre a little tighter. The others joined in the congratulations and Rhys thought he was liable to burst.  


But there was something ever so slightly wrong about it.  


His friends- his family- were all together laughing. Feyre was blending seamlessly into the group like he always wanted her too, but there were too many significant looks passing between them for Rhys to ignore. Too many jabs Mor was holding back, too many punches Amren was pulling. Regardless, they had their drink and soon Rhys found himself following them all to Prythian.  


“Hey Feyre,” Cassian quipped as he crept up behind her and stole her from Rhys, “This is where we fell in love.”  


Feyre let out a genuine laugh and allowed herself to be led a few steps away, much to Rhys’ disappointment, “You and I are remembering that night very differently.”  


“Were you or were you not enchanted by the handsome stranger?”  


“Oh, I definitely intended to sleep with you,” her eyes flashed briefly to Rhys but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat, “But falling in love was reserved for someone else.”

* * *

Feyre was so stupid. Her whole plan relied on Rhys thinking she didn’t actually care about him. She hadn’t meant to say she loved him, she had just been so caught up in the moment. She’d fallen in love with the privilege of being open with him, and it had just slipped out.  


And now she was pressed against the wall outside the club and Rhys was making her feel things neither of them would be able to forget. In the sea of bodies surrounding them, it was easy to sneak out of Prythian without anyone really noticing (except for Cass, who waggled his eyebrows at them but didn’t say anything). Rhys had wanted to go all the way home, Feyre didn’t want to be completely alone with him or her resolve would crumble.  


“I really didn’t want to have sex with you for the first time against a building,” Feyre murmured as his teeth scraped against her collarbone. Her tone was nowhere near as joking as she meant it to be.  


“Do you want to stop?”  


“Do you?”  


“No,” he said after a moment, “I want you.”  


Her entire plan was going to shit, but Feyre couldn’t make herself care when Rhys hands were everywhere at once.  


“Did you mean it?” he asked.  


“Mean what?”  


“That you love me?”  


Feyre laughed humorlessly, “I am definitely not telling you while being ravished against a brick wall.”  


Rhys laughed low and deep in her ear and Feyre thought she might melt, “I did want to go home, if you remember.”  


“They’d notice we left,” Feyre replied. This was another thing that was new with Rhys, all the talking during sex. Tamlin crept up on her mind without meaning to, but they never spoke while they were being intimate. They never even laughed together. Feyre wondered how she had put up with him for so long when this was out there. Though, she’d never put this much heart into sex.  


She and Rhys had had that conversation once when they first started being intimate. Even after everything, Rhys still saw sex as sacred while Feyre saw it as something she needed to do every now and again. She wasn’t a hit it and quit it type of girl, but she’d slept with a decent amount of people before she met Tamlin just because she was horny and they were there. The sex was fun and satisfying, but it hadn’t been deeply moving until those first days with Tam and now, she could hardly consider what she and Rhys did sex because it was so different then anything she’d ever felt before, so overwhelming she almost couldn’t handle it. How could it only be something physical when it made her feel the way it did? For Rhys, there had only ever been Amarantha. He had wanted to save his virginity for someone he was actually in love with, and in the two years since she’d died, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to open up to anyone enough to sleep with them. Until Feyre, that is. She was honored and also disgusted at how she was throwing away that trust.  


“I hope you meant it,” Rhys said against her neck, “Because I feel the same way.”  


“I also don’t want you to say it while ravishing me against a brick wall,” she shot back. That earned her a laugh and Feyre smiled despite herself.  


“Darling, you’re impossible.”  


“I didn’t realize my standards were too high for you, Night.” Their easy banter was the thing Feyre was going to miss the most. Yes, the sex was good, but she’d miss her friend more. Feyre’s eyes filled with tears without meaning to and of course Rhys noticed.  


“What’s wrong?”  


“Nothing,” she lied, “I’m just overwhelmed. Can we go back inside?” There were a million questions in his eyes, but Rhys asked none of them for which Feyre was grateful. Instead, he just led her back inside. 

* * *

Several hours later, everyone but Amren, Feyre, and Mor were properly drunk and that was by design. Because while Rhys slept, Feyre was going to go home and pack. This was worst part of her plan, Feyre thought, to not tell him she was leaving until she was already gone. On the drive home, Feyre and Rhys sat in the back with his head leaning heavily on her shoulder and her hands stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. Rhys was making these obnoxiously satisfied noises that Feyre would compare to purring that would have been obscene if the rest of the car were sober. Instead, she just found them endearing and the kisses he haphazardly gave against her collarbone maddening.  


“You can’t even wait until we get home?” she smiled. Instead of responding, he bit her gently and she let loose a laugh. In that moment, Mor caught her eyes in the rear view mirror and shame started to bubble up in her. If Mor was this pissed when she didn’t even know the half of it…  


Feyre couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to be cold and calculating. She needed to be Amren.  


“Come on,” she nudged Rhys after Mor parked, “I can’t carry you up.” Rhys gave a halfhearted whine as she practically pulled him out of the car. Even though Rhys and Feyre’s apartment was bigger, she had somehow convinced them to crash at Cass’ instead so now she was getting Rhys settled in the guest room as Cass and Az argued over who had to take the couch.  


“This is my house!” Cass cried.  


“Which makes me the guest, so I should get the bed,” Az retorted. Feyre smiled despite herself but didn’t get a chance to hear who won.  


“Stay,” Rhys whined as she plopped him on the bed without ceremony. Almost immediately he was sinking into the mattress.  


“Sleep,” she said as she gave him a soft kiss on the forehead, “I’ll be right back.” Rhys didn’t have the energy to protest it seemed, because he was asleep in moments. Az and Cass seemed to have reached an agreement as well, because the apartment was dark when she went to find Amren.  


“Are you ready?” she asked. Her voice was soft, but not sentimental. More likely so they wouldn’t be overheard than to offer any sort of comfort.  


“Can I just… just give another hour.”  


“An hour won’t make this any easier,” Amren reasoned, “And you know what will happen when they wake up and you’re gone.”  


“It’s only 2,” Feyre said, “I’ll be long gone by the time they wake up.”  


“20 minutes,” Amren warned. Feyre nodded, better than nothing. Feyre was infinitely grateful that Amren was on her side.  


Feyre made her way to Az on the couch. He was a light sleeper, she knew, so she didn’t risk kissing his cheek. Instead, she gave his hand a quick squeeze and said, “Thank you for everything. You didn’t have to trust me, but I’m glad you did.” Feyre had considered writing them all letters, if for no other reason than to explain. But she needed a quick break. They needed to think she’d left because she wanted to, not because they were being blackmailed. She didn’t have the luxury of giving proper goodbyes.  


Cass slept like the dead, so she risked actually sitting next to him on the bed for a moment, “I’m glad you’re not awake so you won’t give me shit for saying this, but I love you. So much. I’m glad we were both horny and lonely at the same time and you brought me into this group. I’m going to miss you so much.” Feyre kissed his forehead and smiled as he nudged a little bit closer.  


Not saying goodbye to Mor was making her ache, but she’d be able to tell in an instant what Feyre was up to. She just hoped that someday Mor would understand and forgive her.  


Finally, she made her way back to Rhys, who was fast asleep. He was turned away from her, so Feyre curled up against his back and reached her hand around so she could feel his heart beat. She had so many pretty words planned, but now all she could do was breath in his scent and enjoy the feel of his body pressed against hers for the last time. She stayed there for as long as she dared. Amren had given her 20 minutes and Feyre knew the woman would hold her to it. She didn’t let her tears fall, she didn’t want to ruin this last moment by crying.  


“I did mean it,” was all she said before she forced herself out of bed.


	20. Chapter 20

Rhys woke up alone at 2 PM. His head was pounding, but he remembered every moment from last night. Every caress of Feyre’s hands, every smile she gave him. Her tears.  


Rhys shot up in bed as a hazy memory of her from late last night crept into his mind.  


She was pressed up against his back holding him close. She was shaking, seemingly trying to hold back whatever was going on inside her head and Rhys was too far gone to turn around and hold her, so he just felt her reach around him, her hand pressed against his heart.  


_I did mean it._  


There was a finality in it that made Rhys’ blood run cold. Despite his exhaustion and hangover, Rhys was out of the house in an instant. He was vaguely aware of Cass and Az calling after him, but all he could think was the fastest way to get home. Cass’ place wasn’t very far from his own, so he opted just to run. Run, as if he didn’t already know what he’d find at home. As if getting there faster would make her come back.  


He was at his door in record time and he forced himself to open it.  


He knew what he’d fine, but he still wasn’t prepared for the feeling of it.  


Gone.  


She was gone.  


Rhys finally saw last night for what it was. It was a goodbye and a breakup. He should’ve trusted his instincts. He should’ve pushed her harder. He should have done a lot of things.  


The emptiness of the apartment made him nauseous.  


Rhys hadn’t realized how thoroughly Feyre had wrapped herself into this space until all traces of her were gone. She had fit seamlessly into his life, and her absence was going to kill him.  


On his kitchen table was a note written haphazardly, almost like she couldn’t quite stomach leaving without a word. The thought made Rhys stomach clench. If she had doubts, then there was a chance she would come back. But though the scrawl was messy, the note was short and cruel, completely certain.  


_I’m going back to Tamlin. He knows too much. Don’t come after me._  


Not even an _I’m sorry_ or _I love you_. Rhys wondered when Feyre had decided to leave. How long had she been with him knowing it was only borrowed time? Rhys realized he’d known all along it was borrowed time as well. He’d never known Tamlin to not get what he wanted, why should this be any different?  


Because Feyre was a person, not a business venture. He’d been giving Tamlin far too much credit all this time. To do this, there must not be a trace of humanity left in the man he had once called his friend. Rhys wanted to kill him, then shake some sense into Feyre. Not necessarily in that order. Did she not see that Tamlin would eventually kill her? Maybe not directly, maybe years from now, but someday she would waste away to nothing and Tamlin would be the cause.  


Of course she knew. Feyre wasn’t stupid. She knew, and decided whatever Tamlin had was worth sacrificing herself for. It must be something on her sisters or on Rhys. She would never give herself up for anything less. Rhys’ fists clenched at his sides and he got the overwhelming urge to hit something, anything. He settled for kicking a chair over and it was nowhere near as satisfying as he needed it to be. He suddenly understood why Az and Cass were always at the gym, why Feyre had started joining them. He’d never felt the need for violence quite like he did now and he’d give anything for a punching bag.  


“I didn’t want her to do it this way, but she knew you could talk her out of it,” Rhys whipped around to see Amren. Of course she would have been in on it, the only person cold enough to help Feyre break his heart. Amren took an almost imperceptible step back, as if Rhys had said it out loud. He has such little control of himself right now he might have.  


“Where is she?”  


“I don’t know.”  


“Liar,” he spat. There were a finite amount of places she could be. He blood boiled at the thought that she had moved back in with Tamlin. He had locked her in his closet, she wouldn’t go back to that. But there were a lot of things Rhys thought Feyre wasn’t capable of, yet here he was.  


“She wouldn’t tell me,” Amren said, “I helped her back up my car, then she left.”  


“Why” Rhys asked. Amren produced a thick folder, the same one Feyre had brought home with the groceries last night. Stupid. There had been so many things off about her, and Rhys hadn’t tried to figure out any of them. He was so worried about breaking the delicate thing they had that he didn’t even dare to push and now she was gone. Still, Rhys took the file and gave it a quick glance.  


_Fuck._  


“They’re not true,” Rhys said after he’d read enough.  


“I know that. She knows that.” Amren replied, “Tamlin knows too. The rest of the world doesn’t.”  


“They’re very convincing forgeries,” Rhys admitted, “But nothing our legal department can’t handle.” He was all bravado. This was bad and they all knew it. Feyre knew it enough to leave.  


“She’s already gone, Rhys,” Amren said as close to soothing as she could get, but Rhys didn’t want comfort. He wanted her. He wanted to be trusted. He wanted Tamlin dead, “She didn’t think you’d help her after this, but I know you better.”  


“And what do you know?” he laughed humorlessly.  


“I know you love her,” Amren replied.  


“Of course I love her. But she still left.”  


“Will you please listen to me,” she snapped with enough venom that Rhys deflated. Amren was brilliant, almost as good as Amarantha had been. He understood why Feyre had chosen to go to her first, but it still hurt, “She knew you wouldn’t help her, _but she left anyway_. And now she’s in there alone.”  


“Lucien?”  


“He owes Tamlin too much,” Amren said, “He won’t get in her way, but he won’t help.”  


“Mor knows?”  


“Some of it. She doesn’t know she left.” Amren said, “I told Az and Cass before coming here.”  


“And what do they think?”  


“They’re pissed off, but they can’t just leave her.”  


“Then we need to find out where she is.”  


“By now, she’s already seen Tamlin,” Amren said and Rhys thought his heart might have stopped. Too late. It was too late to stop this before it really begun. Now there was just reacting.  


“So your choice now,” Amren continued, “Is to love her unconditionally and help, or to be who she thinks you are and let her die.”  


Rhys thought about it for a moment, but there really wasn’t any choice at all. 

* * *

Tamlin had wanted her to come to his house, but Feyre didn’t have a death wish. If she went into that house, she’d probably never come out. She thought Rita’s was good neutral territory. It was Illyrian Night territory, but she and Tamlin had gone enough that it would feel nostalgic and familiar. She couldn’t let her feelings or her panic get in the way. She needed to let Tamlin think he’d won. Amren had coached her on the art of negotiating, but she still felt woefully unprepared. The only advantage she had was the fact that she was the prize and she had complete control over that. With Rhys out of the picture, she didn’t have anyone else’s feelings to worry about. This was a business deal, and Feyre needed to remember that.  


She wore a green dress that she knew Tamlin liked. He had bought her three others almost identical to it the first time she’d worn it. It had been a few months before they got engaged. It was a dress with good memories for him and a reminder for her of the reality of losing to him. She’d given Tamlin and inch but let him believe he’d taken a mile. She’d just come from Elain’s and it reminded her of everything she had to lose. She felt strong and capable, she could do this.  


When she went into the bar, she noted with feigned disinterest that Tamlin had dressed for business as well. He was wearing a tie she had given him and a suit jacket that always made her want to rip his clothes off. He knew how to dress to intimidate, Feyre would give him that.  


“Good evening, Feyre,” he practically purred.  


“Good evening,” she parroted but with none of the fake curtesy. She wasn’t playing to flatter, she was playing to be as disinterested as possible.  


“I know you’d see things my way eventually,” Tamlin said, and Feyre almost vomited at the genuine love in his eyes. He was insane, absolutely insane. He actually thought he’d be able to get her back. Good, Feyre thought, let him think there is anything here worth fighting for. He made a reach for her hand across the table, but she pulled it back.  


“Not so fast,” she said and Tamlin’s brow furrowed, “There are conditions to this.”  


Tamlin gave a low laugh that made Feyre’s blood boil, “I hardly think you’re in a position to negotiate.”  


Feyre stood up and grabbed her bag, “Then don’t negotiate.”  


“Feyre, wait,” Tamlin called after her as he produced the files, “What about these?”  


“Release them,” she shrugged, “We’re doing this my way or we’re not doing it at all. You could agree to my terms and you get something, or you just sit there and threaten and I leave.”  


Tamlin regarded her for a long moment. He seemed to realize what Feyre had been telling him for months. She was no longer the 18 year old he had taken advantage of, or the 21 year old you had tried to kill herself. He had tried to break her, but she was strong and she wanted to show him just so hard she could hit. He finally nodded and gestured for her to sit back down, “What are your terms?”  


“We’re not getting back together,” Feyre said, best to lead with what he’d want most. This was also the one thing she wouldn’t budge on, “Not yet,” give him some hope, leave the door open just a crack. Mor would be proud, it was exactly what she had done to convince Feyre to move in.  


“Okay,” Tamlin replied. That floored Feyre, but she didn’t let it show.  


“Okay,” she repeated. When Tamlin reached for her hand, this time she didn’t pull back even though it made her skin crawl.  


“I never stopped loving you, Feyre,” he said with a tenderness that didn’t match the context of their situation, “I know you never stopped loving me either.”  


“I do love you.” She lied, “But there is so much between us now. I don’t know if I can get past it.”  


“I know,” he soothed, “I know I fucked up so many things. But there is so much you don’t know.”  


“Then tell me.” _Tell me everything so I can destroy you._  


“I will,” he promised, “It will be different this time, Feyre.”  


“Then prove it,” she said. Tamlin’s brow furrowed in confusion as she grabbed the files, “Get rid of these.”  


“No.”  


“Tam,” she said as soothingly as she could, “If you want me back, you need to get me back without this hanging over us. I won’t be blackmailed.”  


“You don’t think they deserve to be punished for what they’ve done?”  


“I know about Amarantha,” Feyre said, “You know it wasn’t them.”  


Tamlin pulled his hand away from her. Shit, she was losing him, “I thought you were done with Night.”  


“This isn’t about Rhys,” Feyre insisted, “Mor saved me. She was my friend long before I knew who she was.”  


“All they’ve done is lie to you, Feyre.”  


“They gave me somewhere to go when I had nothing,” Feyre replied, “Please, Tam, let’s just start over. I don’t want to ever think about them again.”  


Tamlin regarded her for a long moment before slowly nodding, “You will never see him again.”  


“I will never see him again,” she agreed before taking his hand even though it made her stomach churn, “I only want you.”  


Tamlin released a shuddering breath and gripped her hand so hard it hurt. Feyre bit back a wince and made herself smile, “I know you don’t trust me, Feyre, and I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for any of this.” He said it like he was doing her a favor and it made Feyre want to hit him, “This is all their fault. They've turned you against me, but I will spent the rest of my life earning your trust again, if that's what it takes." Such pretty words, but too damn late. Feyre made herself smile anyways  


“It has to be different this time, Tamlin, no more lies,” Feyre replied, “I need to know everything.”  


“A fresh start,” Tamlin agreed. And though it made dread fill her stomach, she let Tamlin take her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	21. Chapter 21

Three weeks.  


That’s how long it had been since Rhys had seen Feyre. He hadn’t tried to find her. No matter how much he ached to, her message had been clear. The best thing he could do for her right now was wait for her to come to him. Whatever Feyre did, when she needed help, she’d turn to them. That’s the story Amren was pushing, at least, and Rhys felt too broken to do anything different.  


To her credit, Mor was even more pissed off than Rhys was, she was all fire where Rhys had turned to ice. Feyre had, in fact, told Mor about her plans before Rhys. At least Mor thought she had. But she had done nothing but spun lies and half-truths that Mor had no reason not to believe. If Rhys wanted to kick her ass when she came home then he’d have to get in line.  


Amren was working day and night to cover their asses on the legal end and Rhys didn’t have anything to do until Feyre reached out except act like everything was normal. He felt pathetic to be at her beck and call, but if he interfered before she was ready then the consequences could be disastrous. However misguided she’d been, Feyre did this to save their asses, and Rhys wouldn’t turn his back on her.  


Feyre had formulated her entire plan around Rhys not loving her enough to forgive this, and Rhys intended to prove her wrong. So he waited, and nothing came. No texts or phone calls or letters. She was gone without a trace and there was nothing for Rhys to do but wait. And wait he did, but Mor didn’t.  


“Nesta has decided not to tell me where her sister is,” she grumbled as she came home one day. Rhys had been told not to look for her, but Mor had been given no such orders and she was taking advantage of that. It didn’t mean she was having any better luck than Rhys, but he appreciated the effort.  


“She’s nothing if not loyal,” Rhys admitted.  


“I believe her exact words were ‘if Feyre wanted you to know where she was she would have told you, now get out of my house’” Mor said, her voice taking a high pitched tone of mocking that would have had Rhys if the whole situation weren’t so tense. If Mor couldn’t find her that meant there was really only one place she could be, and that made Rhys’ stomach churn. If she had moved back in with Tamlin then there was nothing anyone could do to help her. He could trap her in that house again and Rhys would never know.  


Whatever she was doing, it must have been working, because it had been almost a month and there had been no bad press about Illyrian Night. His relief made him sick since it was coming at such a high price, which then made him angry because she hadn’t even told him what she was doing. It was very hard to support her right now, but Rhys had no other choice. So he watched from the sidelines, kept the business out of trouble. He was the model of a perfect CEO. He was on schedule and under budget. And if he was doing all of it without his heart in in… then what else could Amren ask for?  


Quite a lot, apparently.  


“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Amren practically growled as she burst in.  


“I am dressed?”  


“Why aren’t you dressed for the party?” Rhys took a moment to look at her. She was wearing a long black dress and a diamond the size of a knuckle. On the periphery of his memory, he could remember Mor saying something about a fundraiser he’d be expected to attend, but he couldn’t pull up the specifics. Apparently it was tonight and Rhys wanted nothing more than to just stay home. He couldn’t stomach the thought of putting on his mask for tonight, not when he was trying to build a better reputation for himself. Not when half of his heart was missing. But Amren wouldn’t listen to his excuses. Running a multimillion dollar record label meant you occasionally had to make a show of giving some of that money away, and tonight he’d have to play the part no matter how it made him feel. She stared at him for another long moment before he finally sighed and went to get dressed.

* * *

Rhys was trying his best to listen to some producer of another when he saw her. She’d only been gone for a month, but it felt like years as Rhys took a moment to just observe her. There was no way she wasn’t going to see him, so he savored those few seconds. If Rhys didn’t know her any better, he thought she looked okay. But he did know her, and she looked like the night they first met. Her smile was plastered on, Tamlin arm around her waist was heavy and possessive, almost painful. She was wearing a dark green dress that must have been uncomfortable because she adjusted the straps every few seconds. She laughed at something Tamlin said, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Rhys wanted to run over and grab her, but the moment before his self-control crumbled Amren was right there.  


“Did you know she’d be here?” he murmured.  


“Yes,” Amren admitted, “We’re meeting.”  


“And you didn’t think to warn me?”  


“I thought you’d do something stupid,” she shrugged. Fair enough. When it came to Feyre, Rhys was constantly doing something stupid. He was content to melt into the shadows, to pretend she wasn’t here. Let Feyre have her rendezvous with Amren and leave him out of it. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to look over. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly and her spine stiffened. So Amren hadn’t told her Rhys would be here either, interesting. Her eyes raked him over once, refusing to meet his own before her gaze turned to Amren. Feyre gave a tight smile and gave Tamlin some excuse to slip away.  


“Are you coming or not?” Amren asked when Rhys didn’t follow her. He didn’t want to see her. He wanted to see her too much.  


“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said after a moment. Amren looked she was going to argue but must have thought better of it. The moment she was out of his sight, Rhys knew he’d made a mistake. He said he’d stand by her, so what was he doing? By the time he’d decided to follow them, he had no idea where they had gone. It had been less than five minutes, but Amren was already alone again. Rhys cursed himself silently. Feyre wouldn’t risk being away from Tamlin for too long and this might be his last chance to see her until god knew when. He had almost given up hope of finding her when a hand pull at him and suddenly he was hidden in a corner behind a curtain practically pressed against her.  


“What are you doing?” she hissed, but her eyes betrayed her. She wasn’t angry, she was scared out of her mind. Rhys had done that, he had let her go in here alone. All he could was wrap her in his arms and take a moment to breathe her in.  


“Feyre,” he murmured against her hair. Rhys’ anger vanished for a split second as she held him just as tight. All too soon, she was pulling away and looking up at him and that fire in his heart reignited. He was so happy to see her, but he was also pissed off beyond all measure.  


“I have to get back,” she said.  


“Without any sort of explanation? I don’t think so.” She took an almost imperceptible step back and Rhys mirrored it. She wasn’t getting out without talking, not this time.  


“I figured Amren told you.”  


“I don’t care what Amren told me,” he snapped, “I want to hear it from _you._ ” Feyre flinched and Rhys almost felt bad until he remember how he had felt when she left without a word.  


“I’m working for the Spring Court,” she admitted. Rhys’ eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t just playing Tamlin on a personal level, she was working for the bastard. Interesting, indeed.  


“I’m going back,” she said.  


“Feyre-” Rhys said while making another grab for her arm.  


“You won’t be able to tell me anything Mor didn’t,” Feyre snapped, the first hint of emotion she’d allowed herself to show. Too many things were happening at once and it made Rhys’ blood boil.  


“Calm down,” Feyre ordered.  


_“Calm down,”_ he said. Too loud, he was being too loud. Feyre looked around nervously, but it seemed like they hadn’t been discovered yet. But they would, this was risky. This was dangerous and Rhys didn’t give a damn, “Tamlin is coming after my family, he’s coming into my home and you expect me to calm down?”  


“This isn’t an attack against you, it’s an attack against me. I went to Amren-”  


She still wasn’t included herself in the list of people Rhys loved and it was infuriating, “And you think I don’t care-”  


“Will you please just listen to me?” Feyre said. There was enough desperation in her voice that Rhys forced his lips shut. There was nothing she could say that would change his mind, but he could hear her out if it meant just a few minutes more with her. He gestured for her to continue, “Amren thinks this is a last ditch effort, so we’re going to let him think he’s won. He thinks I’m still in love with him, he gave me the job without even arguing.”  


“And you’ll take him down from the inside?” Rhys asked though he already knew the answer. It was a devious plan, and one that just might work with someone stupider than Tamlin, “And you think he really trusts you?”  


“I think Tamlin sees what he wants to see,” Feyre replied, “And he wants me far away from you.”  


Rhys winced even though the words were true. To hear her speak so coldly made rage rise up in his throat. She was talking about her life, how could she be so nonchalant about it?  


“I don’t like this any more than you do-”  


“The understatement of the century,” Rhys interrupted, “This is suicide, Feyre.” She stiffened at the word, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”  


“Mor said the same thing,” Feyre replied, “And I know. _I know the risk._ ”  


“You just don’t care.”  


“You think I don’t care?” she said, “Rhys, I am terrified.”  


“Then don’t go,” Rhys said. He was too pathetic for even him to bear, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He had just gotten her, and now he had already lost her.  


“I wish I didn’t have to,” Feyre said ruefully. Rhys had so much more fight left in him, but he knew it would do no good. Rhys didn’t intend to waste their last moments together fighting. He also didn’t want to spend it strategizing, but that was infinitely more useful than just staring at her and wallowing.  


“Where are you staying?”  


“A friend’s.”  


“ _Where._ ”  


“I can’t have you showing up there,” she reasoned, “She’s Tamlin’s friend too.”  


“I won’t, just tell me. I’ve been going out of my mind.”  


“It’s closer to you than Tamlin,” she said. An evasion, but one that lessened Rhys’ anxiety a fraction. Feyre made a move to rejoin the party but Rhys stopped her with a gentle grasp on her wrist.  


“Are you okay?”  


“Yeah, all things considered,” she smiled sadly.  


“He hasn’t hurt you?”  


“Not yet.”  


“How long?”  


“However long it takes.” She said simply.  


“That’s not an answer.”  


“He said he got rid of the forged documents. I don’t believe him, but as long as I’m there he has no reason to release them” Feyre said, “Amren is working on hacking into the Spring Court’s records, but it takes time. Plus, I have to get to all his personal devices.”  


“Still not an answer.”  


“It takes time.”  


“Feyre-”  


“A few months,” she said finally, “If I’m lucky.”  


Rhys stopped cold. Months. She was planning to do this for a few _months._  


“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, “I knew what I was getting myself into.”  


“You just didn’t think we deserved to know,” he snapped before he could stop himself.  


“I thought you deserved to _live_ ,” she fired back. Finally, finally a reaction. Feyre’s anger was infinitely better than this cold, calculating thing she was pretending to be.  


“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve, Feyre, you don’t get to make that choice for me,” Rhys said, “You had no right to do this.”  


“What about my choice?” she replied, her voice rising far too loud for their situation.  


“What about it?”  


“Tamlin will _always_ be hanging above us, Rhysand,” she said. He noticeably flinched at his full name, “I can’t live like that.”  


“What are you saying?” Rhys asked, but he already knew. They wouldn’t be getting back together, not even after she saved Illyrian Night. Rhys felt like hitting something. She was right, Tamlin would always be there, but Rhys just thought they’d always deal with him together. His fist ached to connect with Tamlin’s face, but he settled for closing his eyes and hanging his head.  


“You deserve to be happy, Rhys,” she said after a long moment.  


Rhys eyes snapped open, “ _You_ make me happy, Feyre,”  


“I make you _happy_?” she said in disbelief. 

Rhys ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, “You broke my heart, you know,” he said finally, “When I woke up with you gone, it absolutely broke my heart.” Not just him. Cassian and Az were just as hurt, Amren had to practically hold them down to stop them from going after her. She had hurt them all, but Feyre didn’t need all that guilt on her shoulders. Not when she was carrying their livelihood on her back. Not now, but she’d have to deal with it when she came back. If she came back.  


“Then why are you here?” she crossed her arms breaking his grip on her. Rhys bit back a growl. She didn’t mean it, he knew, this was just a way for her to protect herself and her heart. He was going out of his mind with her away, but she was the one having the play nice with Tamlin. Whatever he was feeling was magnified tenfold in Feyre.  


“I love you,” he said simply. It was the first time he was really telling her and it was the easiest thing in the world.  


“What?”  


“Even after everything, Feyre, I am so in love with you,” he said as he took a careful step towards her, “I know you’re scared, and I know it’s hard. But we both deserve to be happy. We make each other happy, Feyre, and I’m not going to stop fighting for you.”  


There was only a hairsbreadth separating them now. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her, so easy for him to show her everything he was saying was true. Rhys was in love with her, and that was the beginning and end of everything. Even with all this bullshit. Hell, _because_ of all this bullshit, he loved her. He wouldn’t stop fighting for her, not until she was away from Tamlin and truly didn’t want him. If she decided they were better off apart, it would break his heart, but he would respect that decision. But not like this, not because of Tamlin.  


Feyre pressed a little father forward and their lips almost touched, almost. Rhys couldn’t stop his hands from wrapping around her back. So close. They were so close, but there were still miles between them. There was so much they had to say to each other, and it couldn’t be done behind a curtain.  


“Rhys…” she said carefully. Then it happened, her eyes widened almost imperceptibly and she was pushing him away, “Get your hands off of me!” she cried.  


Rhys stumbled back in confusion and hit his head against the wall with the force of her hit. He made a move towards her, but she violently stepped back. And then, he felt it, a hand pulling him back.  


“What the hell is this?” Tamlin asked as he shoved Rhys against the wall.  


“Tamlin,” she said feigning relief.  


“Answer me,” he growled. His hands were bunched as Rhys’ collar, but the question was posed to Feyre. This had been a risk, they knew, but Rhys hadn’t really been prepared to be caught.  


“He just grabbed me,” she gasped, “He wouldn’t let me go,”  


They were attracting a small crowd now, among them Rhys noted Amren, who was looking at him with disappointment. Her gaze was clear, his fault, this was his fault and whatever Feyre had to do now was on him. It made Rhys sick with the truth of it.  


“Come on, Feyre Darling,” Rhys drawled, pulling his mask back on. If she wasn’t going to let him fight for her, the least Rhys could do was protect her, “We both know you wanted it.”  


“Pig,” she spat, “Please, Tam, let’s just go home.”  


“It seems like the Nights need to be taught a lesson,” Tamlin said as he shoved Rhys back again. His fists were aching to fight back, but Rhys knew what a mistake that would be. Whatever he did right now, Feyre would have to pay for.  


“Please, Tam,” she said. She was crying now, but Rhys knew they weren’t for Tamlin. They were for him, and this fight that they would never escape, “I just want to go home.” She took a step forward and gently removed Tamlin’s arm from Rhys’ throat and wrapped herself around it. The meekness of the gesture almost made Rhys gag. This was the woman Tamlin wanted her to be, submissive and weak, and so unlike the Feyre Rhys loved. The sight of it almost made the fight rise up in him again, but Feyre caught his eyes and shook her head.  


“Please, Tamlin,” she repeated, “Take me home.”  


With a final shove, Tamlin moved away from Rhys, and the next moment they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends. I will not tell you how many chapters are left in this story (because I don't know), but we are definitely closer to the end than the middle. So thank you all for reading this far and know we are nearing the final act. I do definitely have some final tricks up my sleeve. So as always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading.


	22. Chapter 22

Feyre was screwed. So fucking screwed. Pulling Rhys into the corner had been a risk, but when she saw him searching for her… Feyre just couldn’t help herself. She’d needed to see him like she needed to breathe. She felt liked she’d been drowning without him the last few weeks. For her to just leave without a word when she knew how much it would hurt him, Feyre could barely live with herself.  


But she had to, because her feelings were far less important than Rhys and Mor’s lives. But then she’d seen him at that party, and Amren hadn’t told her he’d be there even though she definitely knew. It was almost like she was giving Feyre a chance to be with him without actively compromising what she’d set out to do. Who knew when the next chance to see Rhys would be? If she was being realistic, she’d have to stay with Tamlin for a few months at least. His records were extensive and Feyre knew next to nothing about the Spring Court. It would take time. But she’d seen Rhys across the room, noticed how he’d studied her and really seemed to notice every little thing that was wrong with her. The stupid green tulle dress Tamlin liked but itched incessantly, the seemingly millions of bobby pins holding her hair up that poked her scalp, the ridiculous heels she could barely walk in, everything. And it wasn’t just the physical. Rhys had looked at her like he could see every shadow haunting her eyes and all the night she hadn’t slept.  


Feyre was a mess with missing him, and she was itching to hold him. Their few stolen moments had been glorious. She was so screwed, but all Feyre could think about as Tamlin dragged her away with an oppressive arm around the waist was that it had been worth it.  


“Get in the car,” he ordered when she started to drag her feet. Feyre almost stopped walking completely. She weighed the pros and cons of causing a scene. The biggest pro was that it would delay being alone with him. But the more she fought the worse it would be when she inevitably had to be alone with him.  


She had seen Tamlin angry enough to read his moods. Hell, the whole last year of their relationship had been waiting to fall through the ice of his bad moods. She knew his anger, and she knew how dangerous he was right now. He normally yelled and screamed, threw things and slammed doors. What he was now was worse, this apathy was worse. It warned of something very dangerous lurking just beneath this skin. This is how he’d been the first time he’d hit her. It was hard to believe that was more than six months ago. Half a year away from him, and Feyre was still terrified by his cold rage. She had no choice but to follow him into his car. She realized a few moments later that he wasn’t driving her home, he was taking her to his apartment.  


“Tamlin,” she said carefully when he parked the car in front of his building but didn’t make a move to get out. Feyre noted that the doors were locked. She was trapped. Trapped in a car with Tamlin. Feyre willed her breathing to slow but she could practically feel her heartbeat in her throat. He knew. He knew what this would do to her, this was a power play and Feyre was reminded that she was playing a game.  


“I didn’t know he’d be there,” Feyre repeated, “You have to believe me, Tamlin. I didn’t know he’d grab me.”  


“How long?” he interrupted, “How long are you going to keep punishing me.”  


“That’s not what I’m doing,” she replied. He was still staring at the steering wheel. Good, it was so much harder to lie to his face then to just pretend he wasn’t there at all. The sad truth was that when Feyre looked at Tamlin, she still saw the man she had been in love with. That love was long gone, but they’d had five years together and that baggage wasn’t going away any time soon. She couldn’t explain it, she knew Tamlin was a monster. She knew Tamlin would hurt her again if she ever gave him that chance. But his eyes. They were a deep brown that always reminded Feyre of melted chocolate. She’d spent hours lost in them, and she couldn’t disentangle that Tamlin from the one that had hit her.  


“Then what is _this_?” Tamlin asked as he gestured vaguely between them.  


“I told you, I needed time-”  


“It has been a month, Feyre!” he interrupted as he whipped his head towards her. And just like that, those eyes she loved were filled with anger that left her panicked. This was a bad idea. Such a stupid idea. She wasn’t some sort of spy, or hero, she was just a traumatized woman and she had possibly made the biggest mistake of her life. Feyre resisted the urge to tug on the door handle that she knew was locked. Instead, she forced herself to look Tamlin in the eyes. She wasn’t doing this for herself, she was doing this for Rhys and Mor and the business they had dedicated their lives to.  


“After how many years of lies, Tamlin?” Feyre replied without thinking. It was a deflection to keep her cover, but also a question that had been plaguing her for months.  


“What?”  


“You heard me,” she stood her ground and made herself as Amren like as possible. Her eyebrows were arched, demanding answers, her eyes cold and calculating even though her head was liable to burst from how confined she felt locked in his car.  


“I made mistakes, Feyre, I know that,” he began slowly.  


“The understatement of the century.”  


“I thought you loved me.”  


“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “I can’t be with someone when all he does it lie to me.”  


“You’ve never said it,” he continued.  


“Said what?”  


“Since coming back, you’ve never once said you loved me.”  


And it was true. It was the one concession she wouldn’t make to Tamlin. She’d make him think she loved him, she’d act like she did. She’d dance around them, but she could never give him a simple “I love you”. She never got the chance to say it to Rhys, and she wouldn’t bastardize the emotion by wasting it on Tamlin. Feyre thought he wouldn’t care. If her body was here, he wouldn’t notice her heart was far away. Tamlin was always far more observant than she gave him credit for.  


“I don’t know what you want from me, Tam,” she said, “I told you I didn’t want to get back together. I told you I didn’t trust you. Whether or not I love you… it doesn’t matter when I’ll never be able to trust you again.”  


“Is this about Rhysand?”  


“No,” she repeated again, anger creeping into her voice, “This is about you.”  


“What about me, Feyre?” he demanded, finally some real anger sharpening his words, “I am trying so damn hard here. I haven’t pushed you, or made you move back in. I barely even touch you. I am trying, and you’re giving me _nothing_.”  


Feyre physically recoiled back from the words and played with her leather bands. Tamlin noticed the gesture because of course he did. He hated her bands. Whenever they went out in public together he insisted she wear some sort of bracelet or bangle, anything that wasn’t the ugly leather. One of their biggest fights before the fight that broke them had been about her scars, how Tamlin always wanted to cover them up with something pretty but still pretended they didn’t exist behind closed doors. She had started almost exclusively wearing long sleeved shirts after that. She shook the memory away and looked out the window trying to pretend he wasn’t there, but Tamlin was having none of it. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to face him. Feyre let out of a yelp more out of surprise than pain. Tamlin relaxed his grip but didn’t release her.  


He gestured to her bands, “Is that was this is about?” he asked. It gave Feyre an out, she realized and she slowly nodded. Tamlin sighed and pressed his forehead against hers, “Feyre,” he said. He said her name like she was a problem that needed to be fixed, that he was the one who could fix her if he just found the right tool. It made Feyre nauseous.  


“I’m sorry,” she said meekly, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”  


“No, I’m sorry,” he replied, “I knew something was going on with you, I should have realized.”  


Feyre nodded, unable to make herself care anymore. She was drained. She was exhausted and frustrated and fixated on the memory of Rhys’ hands on her waist. She couldn’t remember what his lips felt like and it was driving her crazy. Were they soft? Chapped? It had only been a month and she was already forgetting the thing that she was willing to put herself back into this situation for.  


Feyre couldn’t pin point the moment she’d decided not to get back together with him, but once the thought entered her head she couldn’t get it out. Tamlin would always be hanging over them. He’d be there with anyone Feyre was with, but Rhys especially. She couldn’t live like that and she didn’t want to put him in any more danger than he already was. He had ghosts enough of his own, he didn’t need hers piled on top.  


Of course that had all gone out of her head the moment he had actually held her in his arms again. But now that she was back facing Tamlin and all he brought with him, Feyre knew she couldn’t go back to Rhys unless she had a way to keep Tamlin away for good. The way her life had gone so far, that seemed highly unlikely. But he’d said he’d fight for her, wait for her. Tamlin had said the same things, and that should have panicked Feyre. But when Rhys said it, she couldn’t help but feel the undercurrent beneath. Feyre knew without a doubt that if she wanted Rhys to stay away, he would. He wouldn’t give up until he was sure she didn’t want him, but if she did she’d never see him again. That thought brought tears to her eyes.  


Tears that Tamlin ever so softly wiped away and Feyre resisted the urge to push him away.  


This was a good opportunity, she realized. Her own issues had made her refuse to go into his house, but that’s where his laptop and cell phone would be. If she went in… if she went in she could get him. If she went in, she might never come out. She wasn’t able to make her decision because Tamlin chose that moment to press his lips against hers. His kiss was soft, but his grip on her wrist tightened.  


Feyre was faced with a dilemma. If she pulled away, she’d have to explain why. She’d have to keep lying and delaying the inevitable. She needed to get into his house to get rid of any information he had.  


And if she said no, would he even listen to her? Feyre didn’t have it in her today to face that possibility. So she let him continue to kiss her. He seemed undeterred even though she did the bare minimum of kissing him back. Tamlin sighed against her mouth as his hand moved to push the strap of her dress aside. Feyre shivered from the cold, but Tamlin seemed to think it was desire because his lips pried open her mouth and he slipped his tongue between her lips. She didn’t stop him and instead tangled her hands in his hair, pulling enough to cause pain.  


“Feyre,” he murmured against her lips, “I’ve missed you.”  


“I missed you too,” she replied emotionlessly as she leaned away from him slightly. He didn’t let her go far, a moment later he was kissing her again. This time it was more forceful and Feyre wouldn’t have been able to get away from him if she wanted to.  


“Let’s go inside,” he said after few minutes of frantic kissing. Feyre swallowed the bile threatening to climb up her throat and nodded. She didn’t stop him when he kissed her desperately against his front door. She didn’t stop him when he pulled her up the stairs. She didn’t stop him as he tugged her dress off, the zipper snagging and eventually breaking under his careless hands.  


And Feyre didn’t stop him when they finally toppled into bed and he pressed her against the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun story. I had my midterms last week so I didn't get as much time to work on this chapter anyways, but then my laptop crashed and I lost ALL OF IT yesterday. So this is definitely not as polished as I'd like it to be, but I promised myself I wouldn't go more than a week without an update so here we are. We'll have a better and longer chapter next week, but in the meantime tell me what you think!


	23. Chapter 23

Feyre woke up feeling sick even though it took her a moment to remember why. She squeezed her eyes shut again as nausea rolled through her and focused on the oppressive arm slung against her hip.  


She had slept with Tamlin last night.  


It had been quick and rough and then they’d fallen asleep wrapped around each other. Feyre bit back a sob as she replayed the previous night. His hands touching her, his mouth biting her. It had been possessive and almost cruel the way he took her. And she hadn’t tried to stop him, not once did she tell him no. But Feyre knew in her heart he wouldn’t have stopped.  


With that thought she slowly untangled herself from his iron grip and threw on one of his shirts. Her only other alternative was putting on that god awful dress from last night and Feyre thought she’d honestly rather die.  


Feyre gave herself 30 seconds alone in the bathroom to fall apart. And fall apart she did. She cried silently, having perfected it after years of hiding breakdowns from Tamlin. There was an unpleasant soreness between her thighs from the months she’d gone without sex. Tamlin either hadn’t thought to ask if he needed to be gentle or he simply didn’t care. In any case, every step she took was a reminder of what she’d done.  


Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of self-pity then she wiped her tears away and set to work. It was just after 6 AM, and Tamlin was never a late sleeper but it was Saturday and he had been drunk last night. She gave Amren a quick call and willed indifference into her voice.  


“I’m in Tamlin’s house but I don’t have much time, what should I focus on?”  


“Why are you at Tamlin’s house?” she asked.  


“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped, “Tell me what to do.”  


“Feyre, what did you do?” Amren asked again.  


“Please, Amren, drop it,” Feyre repeated, and goddammit she couldn’t stop her voice from cracking.  


Amren’s reply was slow and measured. There must have been so much more she wanted to say, but she must have thought better of it, because all she said was, “Your best bet is his personal laptop.”  


“And I do what with it exactly?”  


“Stealing it would be ideal,” Amren said, “But it’s risky.”  


“I’ll do it,” Feyre said without hesitating.  


“Feyre,” she said carefully, “Don’t put yourself in danger because you obviously did something stupid last night.”  


“Don’t patronize me, Amren,” Feyre hissed, “I knew what I was getting myself into.”  


“Okay, okay,” she conceded, “You could steal it, that would be easiest, but it is possible for me to hack it remotely.”  


“Great, how do I do that?”  


“Come over and I’ll give you a bug that will give me access to his computer.” Amren explained, “You basically just plug it in like a flash drive and I’ll do the rest.”  


“Great and then?”  


“I’m making progress with the company hard drive, but it takes time,” Amren said, “If this is his only personal computer we’ll just need to get his phone then get you out of there.”  


“Okay,” Feyre said, her voice shaking, “Okay, I can do that.”  


“Do you want…” Amren trailed off, “I can get Mor over here if you want to talk to someone who is better as emotions than me.”  


“Mor doesn’t want to talk to me,” Feyre replied, “I’m fine, really, I’ll see you in a bit.”

* * *

True to her word, Amren’s bug was easy to install. After only half an hour with Amren, she was in and out of Tamlin’s house again by 8. Mercifully, he didn’t wake up while he was still home. She left him a brief note saying she had to run some errands and would call him later.  


At only 8 in the morning Feyre was back to feeling sick. She was outside Cassian’s gym before she really realized where she was going. She sighed and walked in, she really wanted to beat the shit out of something. She hadn’t dared come back to the gym in case she ran into Cass or Az but she couldn’t bring herself to care today. She was done feeling the emotions associated with sleeping with Tamlin and she just felt empty. She felt used and cheap, because she had been willing to do it to get to his computer. She was turning into something she didn’t like, and Feyre was sure if she didn’t get out of that house soon she would disappear into this new person forever.  


Feyre wrapped her hands haphazardly and started punching without any real aim. Before she knew it, she was in a zone. The world could have ended and Feyre probably wouldn’t have noticed.  


Unlike last time Cass tried to interrupt her venting, he was ready for her punch and he dodged it easily.  


“I didn’t realize you were still alive.” He deadpanned. There was none of the usual humor dancing in his eyes. He looked pissed and Feyre had it in her to be afraid.  


“I didn’t think you’d be here at 8 am,” she said after a moment.  


“And I didn’t think you’d just leave, but here we are.”  


“If you want to fight we can fight somewhere else,” Feyre said quietly, “But Tamlin doesn’t know where I am.”  


“Oh, I don’t want to fight verbally, Feyre. I’m sure you have your reasons for this. I just don’t care.”  


“Then what do you want from me, Cass?” she asked, “Because we were trapped and I didn’t see any other way to get us out of this mess.”  


“Other than trusting us?”  


“And what exactly did you do last time Tamlin came here? Or the first time? Did you step in or did you just let Rhys do the dirty work.”  


“Get back in the ring,” Cass muttered, “If you want to mouth off, make sure you can back it up.”  
The idea of sparring a seriously pissed off Cassian was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. She had walked into the gym feeling completely empty and now she could feel adrenaline start coursing through her. This was a dumb idea. Cass would knock her on her ass within the first minute. She’d get one hit in if she was lucky, but Cass looked like wouldn’t be deterred.  


Cass swept her off her feet immediately, but Feyre didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction even though she landed hard. She popped back up and attempted to kick him in the ribs, but he blocked it easily and suddenly she was on the ground again.  


“Stop going easy on me,” she spat as he let her get back up.  


“You don’t want me to stop holding back.”  


That sent Feyre off enough to land a satisfying punch to his ribs. She used his distraction to knock him on his ass this time, _“Stop going easy on me. _”  
__

____

He gave Feyre a wolfish grin that she was a little bit afraid of, and a second later she was pinned beneath him. She tried to replay the last few seconds and figure out how exactly he had grabbed her, but it had been too fast for her to comprehend.  


“Give up?” he smirked. Instead of replying, she thrust her hips up and sent Cass flying off of her. She couldn’t pinned him back, but Feyre knew he’d just pull the same move again. Instead, she took a few moments to regroup. She wouldn’t beat him on strength or skill, but Feyre was undoubtedly faster than him. Cassian allowed her the moment to think of a strategy before he lunged at her again. He was getting tired and sloppy, Feyre realized. She stepped aside easily and tried to grab his arm as he flew past her, but Cass realized his mistake and turned around and got her with his fist.  


“Shit,” she muttered as she hit the ground. It hadn’t been that hard of a hit, but she was shocked Cassian had hit her at all.  


“Feyre!” Cassian cried as she hit the ground, “Shit, you’re bleeding.”  


She reached up and sure enough, Cass had split her lip. She noted with disinterest that her shitty wrapping job had caused her knuckles to split as well.  


“I’m so sorry,” he said as she brushed the blood off her lip.  


“Was handing me my ass not the point of this fight?”  


“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to actually _hurt you_.”  


He looked so distraught that Feyre couldn’t help but laugh. She knew this match was a bad idea. She’d let herself get out of shape in the weeks since she’d left. But she had missed this, missed him. She could have done without the split lip, but she missed feeling strong. And she felt strong whenever she sparred, Cassian always made her feel so capable.  


He laughed with her for a moment, but too soon Cassian’s eyes turned serious, “Why you do it, Feyre.”  


Feyre flinched under the weight of his gaze. She thought about lying. She thought about just saying she didn’t care about them, but Cassian would see right through her, “I had to.”  


“Bullshit, Feyre, you didn’t have to do anything.”  


“And what else was I supposed to do?”  


“Trust us maybe?” Cassian almost yelled. They were attracting eyes. This gym was Illyrian Night territory, and word could always get back to Tamlin about what she was up to. Cassian seemed to notice too, because he lowered his voice and murmured “It isn’t true is it, you’re not actually with him again are you?” Feyre studied his eyes for a second and tried to decide what he would and would not tell Rhys. Because she had done horrible things with Tamlin. She had slept with him when she was in love with someone else. As if reading her mind, Cassian said, “I’m asking you as a friend, Feyre, not Rhys’ brother.”  


And that was all it took for Feyre to tell him everything. 

* * *

It was getting late and she should be getting back home. Tamlin had called her like 6 times and Feyre was going to have hell to pay when she finally called him back. But she had told Cassian what she’d done last night, and he was shaking with barely controlled anger but it wasn’t at her. He wanted to kill Tamlin, she understood the sentiment.  


“If he ever touches you again…”  


“I never told him no,” Feyre shook her head.  


“It doesn’t matter, Feyre,” he insisted, “You shouldn’t have had to _say_ it for him to realize you didn’t want it.”  


“Don’t turn it into something it wasn’t,” Feyre snapped, “You might be right but if… I can’t deal with that right now.”  


“You’re too much like Rhys, you know,” Cass laughed humorlessly.  


“How is he?”  


“A mess, Feyre. He is a mess,” Cass said simply. Feyre just looked ahead, not knowing what to say. She knew it would hurt, but when she saw him at the party he had seemed alright. It wasn’t possible that he loved Feyre enough for this to ruin him, at least that’s what Feyre had thought.  


“I’m sorry.”  


“Come back with me,” Cassian said.  


“No,” Feyre said immediately. He had sacrificed too much of herself to give up now, not when the end was actually in sight.  


“Feyre-”  


“Enough,” Feyre said, “This is a pointless argument and I have to go home.”  


Feyre expected Cassian to follow her but she was still pissed when he did. Why did no one understand this? Her life would be so much less complicated without love in it, Feyre decided. She was so much better when she’d had no one.  


Cassian allowed her space to walk but didn’t let her get more than a few steps ahead of him. Feyre didn’t know where to go, but she couldn’t go home. Tamlin would assume they were back together now, and Feyre didn’t have the energy for that particular fight. She ended up back at the same park near Prythian when she’d broken up with Tamlin. Cassian sat next to her and waited, but Feyre didn’t say anything.  


“You didn’t just hurt Rhys, you know,” Cass said after a few minutes of silence, “By the time I woke up, everyone else already knew what had happened. And being the last to know that one of my best friends had done possibly the stupidest and most dangerous thing she could do…”  


“I’m sorry,” Feyre said again more sincere this time. Now that they were away from prying eyes, Feyre could feel all her strength leaving her.  


“I know,” Cassian said, “But those first few days were hell, Feyre. We didn’t know where you were or what Tamlin would do. I don’t ever want to feel that again.”  


“I lied to you earlier,” Feyre said. She turned fully to him and looked him in the eyes the first time for the whole conversation. She had spent most of her time missing Rhys that Feyre had almost forgotten how much she loved the rest of them, too. Cassian, her first friend other than Mor. It was going to be so much harder to stay away now that she had been reminded of how many people she had left, “I did have a choice about leaving. And I chose you. You, Rhys, Az, Mor and Amren.”  


“We could’ve helped, Feyre, you didn’t have to run away.”  


“Yes, I did,” Feyre said, “I needed to make a clean break otherwise I’d lose my nerve.”  


“And now?” Cassian asked.  


“And now,” Feyre began, “I would make the same choice again, Cass. I couldn’t live with myself for ruining your lives.”  


The anger was back in Cass’ eyes, but Feyre could tell he understood, “When are you coming back?”  


“I don’t know if I am,” she admitted quietly.  


“What?”  


“Tamlin will…” she trailed off. Words were failing her and her eyes were filling with tears, “Tamlin will always be there.”  


“Feyre, you’re ridiculous,” Cass said. If she didn’t know any better, Feyre would think she saw amusement dancing in his eyes. The surprise was enough to stop her tears from falling.  


“Excuse me?”  


Cassian turned full towards her and took both her hands gently, “You aren’t the only reason Tamlin is gunning for us. He wanted us gone long before you and even if you decide on the self-sacrificing bullshit and leave, he will still be there. Tamlin hates Rhys for reasons totally separate from you. He will be on our doorstep either way, you aren’t saving us by leaving.”  


The sincerity in his ears was enough for Feyre to practically fling herself into his arms. He laughed as her tears began soaking his shirt, but he held her back just as hard. He felt him kiss the top of her head as her tears finally subsided. Feyre pulled back sheepishly and wiped her eyes.  


“How much longer?”  


“Amren bugged his laptop this morning. If I can get to his phone, a few more weeks.”  


“A few weeks,” Cassian let out a long breath, “Will you be okay?” Feyre appreciated Cass realizing it was pointless to talk her out of it.  


“I don’t know,” she said, “Some days are easier than others.”  


“Well I’m sure it will go faster now that Az and I will start helping.”  


“You haven’t been helping already?” she laughed, “Should I be insulted?”  
“Az and I were ready to drag you back, Feyre. Amren wouldn’t tell us anything until she was sure we wouldn’t go do just that. Which, coincidentally, is right now.”  


“You’ve been ready to come get me?” Feyre asked.  


“Everyday. After you left, Rhys and I had words. I thought he and Mor were being so stupid letting you stay. Az and I disagreed. We’ve been a little… splintered since you left.”  


That set Feyre’s eyes filling with tears again. She turned around and embraced him again, softer this time but with just as much feeling, “A few weeks, then I’ll be done.”  


Cass hugged her back, “And then you come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me, I got the chance to get a chapter done! Let me know what you think!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I know it's been a hot second since I've updated. My laptop got a virus and I had to take her to IT, but we're back now and will hopefully get back to consistent updates. Let me know what you think!

The argument Feyre had with Tamlin about vanishing was worth it to see Cassian. They had spent the better part of an hour coming up with a game plan. It turned out Amren wasn’t the only talented hacker at Illyrian Night. Az wasn’t as good as she was, but he was good enough that it had slowed her down not to have his help. Cassian was better with muscle and strategy, so his particular skill set was to help Feyre physically navigate the Spring Court.  


“I can’t believe that idiot gave you a job,” he laughed when Feyre had finished telling him everything that had happened in the past month. She had been taking her life so seriously. Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she had genuinely laughed. There hadn’t been much to laugh about. But here she was laughing over drinks with Cass even though her entire life was going to hell.  


It was close to midnight before Feyre could bring herself to leave. Throughout the evening, Cass made attempts to bring her back with him, but this whole day had reminded Feyre what she had to lose if she failed. She couldn’t fail. She was getting so close she could taste it. Just a few more weeks then she could have her freedom.  


“And where have you been?” Ianthe asked Feyre as she crept back in. she had been staying in her townhouse ever since leaving Rhys’. It was less than ideal, but Feyre felt safe enough with Ianthe. She had been Tamlin’s friend first, but she had been there for Feyre as much as she could.  


“Working,” Feyre said apologetically and she let her hair fall down to hide her split lip. That was a fight that didn’t need to happen tonight, “I lost track of time.”  


“Hmm,” Ianthe said, but didn’t make a move to stop Feyre as she went back to her own room. She trusted Ianthe as a friend, but not as a confidant. She knew anything she told the woman would go back to Tamlin. Ianthe had been his friend since college and an executive at the Spring Court. She was… less than thrilled that Tamlin had given Feyre a job after she’d worked for their rivals. Feyre could feel the strain on their relationship, but it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go.  


“Goodnight,” Feyre murmured before she decisively shut her door behind her. She was being too reckless again, but Feyre couldn’t stop herself. She woke up the next morning to half a dozen texts from Tamlin asking where she had been last night and why she’d been out so late. Feyre sighed, disappointed in Ianthe but not at all surprised.  


She assessed herself in the mirror. She looked tired, but happier than she’d felt in a long while. The problem was she absolutely had to go into work today. The Spring Court was unforgiving with their deadlines, and Feyre’s lack of education or actual experience was already putting her at a disadvantage. Her clients had no shortage of arbitrary notes for her work, and Tamlin was always there to offer something if Feyre actually felt good about her work for once. She had an important meeting today and postponing it would get her hell from Tamlin. She experimented with her hair, seeing how much of her split lip she could cover with it. Her lip wasn’t swollen at least, but the cut was still noticeable. She decided on a dark plum lipstick to hide it as best she could. After a few coats she decided that was a good as it was going to get. The cold February weather made it easy for Feyre to leave with gloves on which concealed her knuckles. She shot back Tamlin a quick text about working late on her proposal. He told her again that next time, she should come back to his place.  


When Feyre slept with him, she hadn’t been sure if it would make the situation better or worse. It would either satisfy him for a while and get her some breathing room, or it would just make him tighten his hold on her. The way he called her a moment later insisting he drive her to work, Feyre realized it was the latter. She didn’t have a good excuse for saying no, so she told him she was at Ianthe’s and she’d be ready in 10 minutes. She was ready already, but she needed the extra time to get her proposal materials in order. Despite the fact that it was with Tamlin, Feyre still cared about her work. It wasn’t anything like Illyrian Night, she had no friends there and her salary was crap (Tamlin made her sure Feyre wouldn’t be making enough to get enough savings to leave him anytime soon) but she was still getting paid to make art. Yeah, it was for nitpicky assholes, but it was still _something_. It was exactly what she had wanted after Tamlin forced her to quit working at the gallery. Feyre was reminded for the millionth time how different things could have been if Tamlin had just tried a little bit harder, or thought of her more instead of his own comfort. If she’d been brought into the Spring Court sooner, maybe…  


By the time Tamlin picked her up, Feyre was in a thoroughly shitty mood. Her proposal wasn’t the best because she hadn’t been able to put in the time it needed because of all the snooping and all.  


“What are you wearing?” Tamlin demanded as soon as she slid into the passenger seat.  


“Clothes?” she deadpanned.  


“I meant the lipstick,” Tamlin said, “You know I hate dark lipsticks.”  


Feyre, in fact, did know he hated dark lipsticks. She hadn’t remembered when she’d put it on this morning because she frankly didn’t care about Tamlin’s preferences anymore, but it was something he’d told her more than once. When they’d been together, Tamlin liked to be able to kiss her (claim her) anytime, anywhere. Once upon a time, Feyre liked striking reds and bubblegum pinks, and even dark purples, but Tamlin had pouted about how he couldn’t ravish her when he wanted with them and she’d basically thrown them all out. Feyre resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  


“Well I like it,” she replied, “It’s perfect for a winter day like this.”  


“I don’t like it,” he repeated, as if it had been an attack on him personally.  


“Believe it or not, Tamlin, I don’t make every decision with you in mind.”  


“But since we’re back together-”  


“We are not back together,” Feyre practically spat. Feyre knew that was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn’t stop the words from bubbling out of her throat. Ever in character, Tamlin swerved the car over until she nearly hit the curb. He put in it park and turned towards her, grabbing her wrists.  


“You’re hurting me,” she warned. But unlike the other times he grabbed her, but the pain wasn’t by accident. If anything, he strengthened his grip on her.  


“What was the other night, then, if it wasn’t us getting back together?” he demanded. Feyre refused to break eye contact, to do so would be to confess, “Did it mean anything to you?”  


“Of course it meant something,” Feyre replied as soothingly as she could manage, “I just…” Feyre struggled for words that would sound believable but also different than all the other excuses she’d already given him. Tamlin’s grip on her was too tight to break and making it hard for her to think.  


“What, Feyre?” he demanded, “What?”  


“I don’t know, okay?” she admitted, “I don’t know why I can’t make myself take this leap with you yet, but I can’t. Please, Tamlin just give me some more time.”  


“I’m running out of patience, Feyre,” Tamlin said, but he let go of her wrists. She resisted the urge to rub the tenderness there. She’d definitely bruise.  


“I’m sorry,” Feyre said meekly. Tamlin said nothing, but he finally started the car again. They didn’t say another word the whole way to work, and all Feyre could think about was how she was going to get herself out of this mess. 

* * *

Her day got even shittier if that was possible. Her client hated all the concept art she had done. They hadn’t requested anything specific, so Feyre had drawn a complex geometrical pattern that she felt really captured the way the album sounded. When she’d tried to explain the symbolism behind it, their manager had demanded she just do a simple photo of the band instead. Feyre only nodded and resisted the urge to throw her whole portfolio in the trash. It seemed the more effort Feyre put in, the shittier everyone here thought she was. Her stupid plum lipstick was drying her lips out but she couldn’t take it off or Tamlin would definitely see her lip, and that fight was the last thing she needed to have today. She’d forgotten her lunch at home so she was starving and she had a pounding headache. Feyre was ready to fling herself into bed by 5 PM and possibly never wake up.  


Then Rhys texted her.  


Feyre had deleted his contact information and all their texts and calls when she had left him in case Tamlin started checking her phone the way he had when they had first gotten together, but she had his number memorized.  


It was a simple one sentence text message. _I need to see you tonight_.  


Feyre looked guiltily over her shoulder before replying even though she was alone in the break room. Feyre rarely took her lunches outside of the Spring Court building in case something happened that could be useful, but Feyre couldn’t have this conversation right under Tamlin’s nose, not when he was watching her so closely. She grabbed her bag and was out the door in a minute. She was calling him as soon as she was out of earshot of the building.  


“Rhys,” she breathed as soon as he picked up.  


“Are you okay?” he asked immediately and Feyre almost wept at how gentle he sounded.  


“Yeah,” she lied, “Are you? Is everyone okay?”  


“Yeah,” he said.  


“Why do you need to see me?” she asked. Not that he needed a reason, Feyre knew she’d drop anything to see him right now, but this was going to be an unprecedented risk.  


“I just…” Rhys stammered, “I thought it would be a good idea to get everyone on the same page, since Az and Cass have officially joined the ranks.”  


“That is a good idea,” it wasn’t but Feyre wasn’t about to argue, “I’ll need to make up some excuse for Tamlin.”  


“Come to Cassian’s at 7,” was all Rhys said before he hung up. It was such a short phone call that Feyre hadn’t gotten a real chance to read his mood. Had something happened? Had he finally decided he was done with her? He had been so passionate at the party, but that was before Feyre had allowed Tamlin to take her away from him yet again. It was entirely possible that now that Cass and Az were helping, the pressure was off of Rhys. Feyre didn’t let herself think about it. She called Tamlin and told him she had plans tonight and to not expect her home. He argued because of course he did, but for once Feyre was able to stand her ground. She told Ianthe the same thing so at least her stories would line up. With her cover taken care of, all Feyre had to do until 7 was wait for the minutes to tick by. 

* * *

Contacting Feyre had probably been the stupidest thing Rhys could have done. What if Tamlin had been with her? What if he checked her phone? The bastard probably would do that. What if she didn’t answer?  


Rhys had been a mess after seeing her a few days ago. Amren wouldn’t tell him the details of what their meeting had been about, but from the way she was snapping at him over the smallest things Rhys could guess the price for his and Feyre’s little rendezvous had been steep. And then Cassian had come home saying he had seen Feyre but refusing to tell Rhys anything else… something had happened. Something had happened _to her_ and Rhys was _useless._  


Really, the information Amren had found out was just giving Rhys an excuse to be stupid.  


Because they did need to talk to Feyre. This was… this was a game changer.  


“It’s really not that bad,” Mor lied.  


“It’s about the worst case scenario,” Amren countered. It was. Because it turned out, Amarantha hadn’t just hidden her crimes at Illyrian Night. She had covered her tracks at the Spring Court as well.  


And it turned out that exposing Tamlin would put them back in the exact same position they were in now,  


Because Amarantha had implicated Rhys in everything she’d done with the Spring Court. What was unclear as if Tamlin knew, or if Amarantha had just been looking out for herself. If Tamlin didn’t know, then they still had a chance to hack into the Spring Court and change their records.it was the same plan as before, it would just take longer. More time wasn’t a price Rhys was willing to pay though, Feyre had been there too long already. Rhys was so close to just saying fuck it all and give up. Amren shut down that “self-sacrificing bullshit” with half a thought, but Rhys wasn’t going to keep Feyre with Tamlin any longer without having an actual conversation about it. Not just them speaking through Amren, all of them together. Because this effected all of them and they were a team now.  


So he called her, and she came right on time.  


Rhys unsuccessfully resisted the urge to run to the door the moment it rang. Somehow Mor beat him to it and her arms were around Feyre and they were both crying.  


“I’m so mad at you,” Mor cried into her shoulder and Rhys swore he heard Feyre laugh. His own smile died though the moment he really saw her. There was what was easily visible, the split lip. The cut knuckles. Then there was what was just under the surface. She looked so tired. And not the kind of tired a few good nights of sleep could cure. It was the kind of weariness that only came from months of not sleeping. She had lost weight. She looked worse than when she had first come to live with Rhys. She almost looked like a strong wind would carry her away.  


When they made eye contact it was electric. It was infinitely more intense than at the party a few days ago. Here there was safety and with safety came more longing because everything Rhys wanted to do with her was just out of his reach. He tried not to resent the fact that everyone was gathered here, because as long as they weren’t alone Rhys had to wear his mask. That didn’t stop him from just looking at her and imagining where there relationship would be right now if things were different. Her gaze was just as heavy and Rhys felt his stomach flipping at the thoughts that must be swimming through her head. They may have looked at each other for moments or hours. Eventually, the others joined them in the living room and Feyre gave Cass and quick hug and even Az squeezed her shoulder. The whole time, Feyre’s eyes didn’t ever entirely leave Rhys.  


“It wasn’t Tamlin,” Feyre said to him eventually. Rhys must have given her a look because she gestured to her lip.  


“Then who was it?” Rhys said as he took a few steps towards her, almost like something was physically pulling him towards her.  


“That would be your brother, actually” she said with a ghost of a smile. Rhys couldn’t help the startled laugh that burst out of him. And just like that the tension in the room dissipated enough that Rhys could pull her into a hug. It was sweet and tender and much too short. Rhys would have been okay right now with hugging her for a few hours. They had weeks worth of missing time to catch up on.  


“And how exactly did Cassian hit you,” Mor said with her arms crossed. Rhys almost shivered at the cold look she threw to Cass.  


“It was a misunderstanding,” Cassian said with his hands up and this time Rhys gave a genuine smile at how normal this felt, almost like nothing had changed at all.  


“Did I or did I not tell you I’d kill you if you ever touched her again?”  


“Jesus, Mor,” Cass laughed, “It’s not like we’ve never sparred before.”  


“If it helps,” Feyre smiled, “When he realized what he’d done I thought _he_ might cry.” That earned an earnest laugh from the whole room and a fake offended gasp from Cassian.  


“Next time I won’t apologize,” Cass sulked. Feyre gave him an amused shove as she past him and sat down next to Mor who immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Rhys was a little bit jealous again that Mor had gotten to her first. In his indecision, Amren had taken the place on the other side of her so he settled to sit across from her.  


“I don’t have that long before I have to back,” Feyre apologized, “And as much as I love you all, is there a purpose for this meeting?”  


“Unfortunately,” Amren replied, “Amarantha was very good at covering up her own tracks.” She handed Feyre the documents the rest of them had been going over all day.  


“Something explain what these mean,” Feyre said after a moment, but the timbre in her voice let Rhys know she knew exactly what they meant.  


“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Rhys said, “It just… complicates things.”  


“Complicates it how?” Feyre asked.  


“We need more time,” Amren said, “A lot more time.”  


Feyre was so still it almost looked like she was statue. The only thing moving were her eyes which just looked so empty. Cassian shot her a worried look and Rhys again wondered just what she had told him.  


“Okay,” she said after a minute.  


“Okay?” Mor asked.  


“If you need more time you need more time,” she said, “I’ll get you more time. I have to go.”  


Amren nodded and everyone else said their goodbyes. She gave Rhys a tight, short hug and then she was out the door. And Rhys did the one thing he was always too scared to do.  


He went after her.


	25. Chapter 25

“I have to go home, Rhys,” Feyre said as he caught up to her. Rhys almost wanted to turn back around, but there was something in her voice that he couldn’t ignore. She was pushing him away like she always did, but there was something in her voice almost begging him to stay. Maybe he was misreading, but who knew the next time he’d get the chance to find out.  


“Let me drive you back.”  


“You realize how stupid that is right?” She laughed humorlessly.  


“This whole thing is stupid. Let me take you home.” Feyre stopped and looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding.  


As they walked towards his car, Rhys contemplated the pros and cons of holding her hand. Their fingers brushed every so often as they made their way to where he was parked a few streets over. They didn’t speak. Rhys didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? What could he possibly say that would make any of this better? So he didn’t even bother. His entire consciousness was focused in on the slight contact of her fingers on his and Feyre didn’t seem eager to break their silence. Before Rhys could commit to actually grabbing her hand, they were at his car and Feyre was already away from him.  


He slid into the driver’s seat without ceremony and just started driving mindlessly. There was nowhere to go. He sure as hell wasn’t taking her back to Tamlin’s and she’d made it clear Rhys couldn’t know where she was actually staying.  


Feyre didn’t seem to mind that they weren’t going anywhere in particular. She was curled up on the seat turned away from him and gazing out the window. She was too far away to touch even though Rhys ached for any sort of physical contact. The whole situation reminded him of when they were driving back from the cabin. She was curled towards him then, her hand in his and he had almost killed them like hundred times because he couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing over at her. He couldn’t stop looking at her now either, but all the casually intimacy of them was gone. Every time he saw her they acted like it was the last time. They had to, because every time very well could be the last time. There was no room for moving slowly in their relationship. Rhys had realized she was exactly right when she’d said she didn’t want to get back together with him when this was all over. Their relationship had begun so slowly until they had finally found a good balance, then they were immediately forced apart and every time they came together now it was like the world was ending. How could they ever come back from that and become the soft, gentle thing they once were?  


That didn’t mean Rhys wasn’t going to try, but he could see why Feyre would want to leave.  


He was just going to have to work harder to make her see that they could still make it.  


Before Rhys knew it, they were out of the city. As soon as they were gone, Rhys let out a breath of relief. The farther away they got the less likely it was they’d be spotted by anyone. Rhys couldn’t belief he had to care so much about who saw them again. Still, they sat in silence and Rhys just drove without any aim at all.  


“I do have to go back eventually,” Feyre said after a while.  


“I know,” he said.  


“Is it bad that I just don’t care what Tamlin thinks of me?” she asked, “I mean, I’m supposed to make sure he trusts me. Vanishing for hours at a time doesn’t exactly accomplish that.”  


“It definitely makes you a bad spy,” he admitted, “But how pathetic is it that I’m the one who put you in this situation in the first place, yet every time I see you I can’t help but love that you’re away from him?”  


“Rhys,” she said softly, “You’re not the one who put me in this situation.”  


“Yes I am, Feyre,” Rhys insisted. He was gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white. They should having this conversation face to face, at his house or Mor’s or somewhere where she could stay and get some sleep afterwards. The bags under her eyes were more prominent than ever, and all Rhys could think of was when was the last time Feyre got some decent sleep? He remembered that first week she had been staying with him. She barely left her room, but her lights were still on whenever Rhys went to bed and she was up long before him in the mornings. Rhys knew that when she got stressed the first thing to go was her ability to sleep.  


“Enough, Rhys,” she said soft but firmly, “We can’t keep rehashing this same argument.”  


Rhys didn’t have anything to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all, “Don’t do that” she said after a moment.  


“Do what?”  


“Act like everything in the world is your fault,” she said.  


“That’s not what I’m doing,” he lied.  


“Rhysand,” she said, “You cannot control everything. You can’t control Tamlin or his lackeys. And you definitely can’t control me.”  


“I’m not trying to control you,” he said, but the words sounded false even to him. Isn’t that exactly what he was doing? Rhys was suddenly overcome with the deep exhaustion you could only feel when you realize there is absolutely nothing you can do in the face of trouble.  


“Where are we?”  


“I actually have no idea,” Rhys admitted with a slight laugh. Wherever it was, it was scenic and remote enough that Rhys was content to just keep driving. If Rhys didn’t know any better, he would think they were on their way back to the cabin, but he was at least aware enough to know they had been driving the opposite direction.  


“Wherever we are, I can’t get a GPS signal,” Feyre said, “So I hope you can get us back.” Rhys couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in weeks, Rhys felt like there was nothing on his shoulders, no one watching him. Not that there were people generally spying on him, but those first days without Feyre he felt like everyone was looking at him. As careful as he’d been, Rhys and Tamlin were public figures in their line of work and people had taken notice that Tamlin’s fiancé had been spending an exorbitant amount of time at Illyrian Night and then she had started _working there_ , and now that she was back at the Spring Court… Rhys had to admit the whole situation looked a little off. Because of Illyrian Night’s reputation the rumor mill had spun something painting them in a bad light of course. To deny it would be to put Feyre in danger, but their reputation had taken another hit it really couldn’t afford to. It was nothing worse than what would happen if Tamlin’s frame job got out, but it was still something.  


To make matters worse, Feyre had somehow become their top illustrator in the short period of time she’d been working there. Her clients were none too happy that their album art had to be redone because the artist had terminated her contract. Even worse, some of the, were threatening to go back to the Spring Court just to have her again. It wasn’t like Rhys could tell them that Feyre would be back soon. He had known Feyre would be good at the job when he’d hired her, but he’d had no idea the loyalty she had won in just a few short months. Rhys would never tell Feyre that particular detail, she had so much on her mind already. Rhys didn’t need her to make her feel guiltier.  


He had long given up on convincing her to come back until she was finished. He knew he wouldn’t get any more information out of Amren than what was absolutely necessary. At least he was getting more than Cass and Az. Rhys couldn’t help but feel some pride that his brothers seemed almost more pissed off than he was. It had almost felt like a defeat when Cass admitted that he’d help her. That was until he mentioned that he’d seen her. Rhys had nearly driven Cassian to leave with all the questions he threw at him. Was she okay? Had she lost more weight? Did she look hurt? How much longer would she be gone? Cassian had only given him the vaguest of answers and that was when Rhys knew he was hiding something.  


“She is my friend before you are my brother right now,” Cassian finally snapped when Rhys had pushed just a little too far, “She wouldn’t tell Amren or Mor, but she told me. I will not to anything to lose her trust, not when I seem to be the only person she’s trusting.”  


That had caused the fight in Rhys to die. If it meant that Feyre had someone to confide in, Rhys would have to live with not knowing whatever horrible thing Tamlin had done. When she had walked into Cass’ house, Rhys was so sure Tamlin had been the one to hurt her and that had been the thing she was keeping secret. When he’d found out that wasn’t it… It wouldn’t have been acceptable for Tamlin to hit her, but Rhys had always known he was capable of that. Tamlin always seemed to be capable of things more horrible than Rhys had ever suspected. Every time Rhys thought he got to the bottom of his cesspool, Tamlin managed to surprise him.  


“What’s going on in your head?” Feyre murmured, interrupting his internal monologue.  


“Hmm?” Rhys muttered.  


“What’re you thinking?” she asked again.  


“I was wondering what you told Cass that he wouldn’t tell me,” Rhys admitted, sensing she wouldn’t be deterred. They had spent too much of this drive in their own heads. Rhys decided it was time for some honesty.  


“I’m kind of surprised he didn’t tell you,” Feyre evaded.  


“Cass takes his promises very seriously. And you’re sort of his best friend,” Rhys said, “I was hoping you’d tell me yourself.”  


“I slept with Tamlin,” Feyre said without preamble, almost like if she didn’t get the words out immediately then she never would. Rhys bit back his incredulous response. She had slept with Tamlin. Nothing good would come from his getting angry, so Rhys just sat and processed for a minute. She had slept with Tamlin.  


“When?”  


“After the party,” she admitted. Suddenly everything made sense. Amren had made it very clear whatever happened after they’d been caught was on him. Amren hadn’t known for sure, but she’d guessed and that explained the murderous looks she’d been giving Rhys the past few days. Feyre had to sleep with Tamlin to keep her cover and it was Rhys’ fault.  


“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Feyre commanded when Rhys remained silent.  


“Was it…. Did he?”  


“I never said no, if that’s what you’re asking,” Feyre replied as she turned further away from him. Rhys decided he was liable to crash if he kept looking at her instead of the road, so he decided to pull over. He drove far enough off the road that they couldn’t really be seen from the highway. The sun had set long ago, but this far from the city the stars were more than enough to see by. Feyre in the moonlight was a sight Rhys never thought he’d get tired of. He felt absurd to be struck by her beauty at a time like this, but here he was. Her hair was put up messily and there was a stain of whatever lipstick she had been wearing still on her lips. When Rhys brushed a piece of hair off her cheek, she stiffened but didn’t pull away.  


“Talk to me,” he said. Rhys pulled her ever so gently around until she was turned fully towards him. She didn’t even seem to have the energy to wipe the tears away that were pooling in her eyes.  


“What is there to say?”  


“Whatever you want, Feyre, I will listen.”  


“I didn’t think it would hurt me this much,” Feyre said after a moment, “It’s not like I’ve never had sex with him before.” Rhys almost flinched at her bluntness, but this moment wasn’t about his feelings. It was all about her. Rhys needed to make it all about her.  


“What happened?”  


“He drove me back to his house and we got into a fight,” she began, “And he grabbed me and he kissed me. And I realized if I stopped him…” she trailed off, her eyes somewhere far away. Rhys linked her fingers with his and gave a comforting squeeze. She took a deep, tearful breath before continuing, “I realized if I stopped him, he’d know I’d been lying about everything. He wouldn’t understand why I wouldn’t sleep with him if I loved him. So I didn’t stop him. But, Rhys… I don’t think he would have stopped anyways.”  


Finally, Feyre’s tears began to fall and Rhys realized she must have been holding this in for days. Before he could think better of it, Rhys brushed his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe the tears away. Feyre shuddered at the contact and then her arms were around him and she was crying into his shirt. It was awkward with the center console between them, but Feyre tightened her grip as soon as Rhys moved away to adjust so Rhys made due with the position they were in.  


“Shh,” he murmured into her hair as his hands gently massaged her shoulder blades.  


“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I shouldn’t have gone back.”  


Rhys pushed her away just enough to look into her eyes. He again brushed her tears away and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, “You have nothing to be sorry about,” Rhys said, “I won’t say I’m sorry, because you already know. And I don’t want you to be sorry either. Instead, I promise you that I will do anything to end this as soon we can.”  


She tilted her head up slowly, but Rhys was still surprised when her lips touched his. Soon enough though, his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck that were coming loose from her bun and he was pressing her closer. There was no closer they could get in their current position, so Rhys settled for gently parting her lips to get a better taste of her. Feyre let out a small groan as his tongue caressed hers.  


Feyre’s hands migrated down until she was playing with the hem of his shirt and Rhys couldn’t stop himself from moaning as her nails scratched along the planes of his stomach, “I want you,” she murmured against his lips and that was all the encouragement Rhys needed to pull her over the console and onto his lap. Feyre seemed to catch what was doing a moment before he did it, because the move wouldn’t have worked without her working with him. Rhys’ seat was far enough back to allow her to straddle him somewhat comfortably, and Rhys could just focus on the feel of her flush against him. Two months. It had been two months since he really felt her, tasted her. And as much as Rhys didn’t want their first time together to be in his car on the side of the highway, neither one of them was making a move to stop.  


On the contrary, Feyre was working exceptionally hard to get his shirt off without making her lips leave his skin. It was a valiant effort, but eventually they had to break apart to get his sweater off. While they were at it, Rhys unbuttoned her blouse and the broken kiss was a small price to pay to feel all of her against him. Rhys moved his lips against her pulse point before biting gently as her thighs pressed tighter around him.  


“No marks,” she warned. Rhys sucked softer, but couldn’t bring himself to leave her slender throat alone. He needed something to occupy himself while Feyre fumbled with the button of his jeans. This was where Rhys normally pulled away, where Amarantha would invade and poison every ounce of pleasure that pulsed through him. But not now. This time, there was no room in this moment for anyone other than the two of them. Still, Feyre stilled once she got his pants unbuttoned.  


“We can stop,” she said, but Rhys shook his head.  


“Do you want to stop?”  


“No,” she said immediately, but bit her lip in thought anyways. Rhys moved his hand up to push Feyre’s hair away from her face.  


“What is it?”  


“I just…” Feyre struggled, “I need someone to touch me. Someone other than _him_. I need to _forget_.”  


Rhys’ hands stilled in her hair. They still had so much to talk about, so much about that night that Rhys’ still didn’t know. But he knew firsthand that forcing it wouldn’t do any good. He knew better than most that sometimes it was easier to just say yes then to have the fight about it. Rhys couldn’t fault her for dealing with the fallout from that differently than he did, so he reached between them and rubbed at her heat through her leggings, which she rewarded with a breathy gasp.  


“Then allow me the pleasure of distracting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I thought we were due for a good Feysand interaction. Let me know what you think!


	26. Chapter 26

Naked in the starlight, Feyre appeared to glow. That was something Rhys hadn’t known. He also hadn’t known just how good it would feel to be inside of her. He had imagined it, of course, dreamed about it for so long he couldn’t remember what it was like not to want her. But he had never thought that it would feel so perfect despite the fact that their world made no sense and they were in the front seat of his car just off the side of the road. It was definitely not how he expected to have sex for the first time in more than two years, but somehow it had been perfect.  


Somehow they had figured out the logistics despite the tight quarters and now they were pressed together riding out the waves of their orgasms together. Feyre’s lips had found his neck to silence her breathy moans and they had not left the spot in minutes. Now that they were finished, she was peppering small kisses along his neck and jaw and Rhys was running his hands up and down her bare back.  


“I don’t want to go back,” Feyre said softly, as if speaking too loud would break the spell they seemed to be under. Rhys wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to go back, that she never had to go back to him again, but he knew that would do no good. She would go back. To protect him, Feyre would always go back. And it killed him to let her go again, but it would be different this time. They were in it together now, and Rhys would be ready to catch her as soon as she fell. But right now, he just held her tighter and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.  


It was late and the cold night air was making goosebumps rise on both of them, but neither had the heart to move apart long enough to get dressed. They couldn’t be seen from the road and Feyre had no cell signal to field the dozens of texts Tamlin had probably already sent. It was barely past eleven and it made Rhys blood boil to think of the way he kept tabs on her. But Rhys refused to let Tamlin into this moment. He refused to feel anything other than her lips on his slightly sweat sheened skin.  


“We should go back,” Feyre said finally. Rhys didn’t bother nodding in agreement as Feyre removed herself from his lap. Rhys immediately missed the weight of her, but he silently handed her the clothes that had been haphazardly thrown aside. They dressed in silence and all too soon they were ready to leave. Rhys carefully pulled the car back onto the road. This silence was different than the drive here. It was more comfortable but somehow more tense at the same time. Feyre kept obsessively adjusting her hair, as if she could hide what they had done. Rhys had been careful not to leave any marks on her, but there was no getting rid of how she looked satisfied and alive for the first time in weeks. Rhys would have felt smug about that if not for the fact that Feyre would struggle to explain to Tamlin where she’d been.  


Rhys distracted himself by stealing quick glances at Feyre and her adorably flushed cheeks. Rhys had been careful with her, but Feyre had given him no such courtesy. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed what Rhys suspected, he could see no less than three hickies peeking out from under his collar. He couldn’t imagine what his chest and back looked like. At least he had the physical effects of their evening to ground him when he had to let her go so soon. With that thought, he fell into contemplative silence again.  


“It wasn’t a distraction,” Feyre said finally, startling Rhys out of his own thoughts, “I need you to know that.”  


“Okay,” he said.  


Feyre turned herself fully towards him, “I mean it, Rhys,” she said.  


“I said okay,” Rhys replied, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”  


“Yes we do, because I know we think about sex differently,” she insisted, “And I need you to know it meant something to me. It meant everything to me.”  


“I really wish we’d stop having important conversation when we can’t actually look at each other,” Rhys said, trying desperately to ease some of the tension. Feyre let out a vaguely amused sigh. She was right, they did think about sex differently and that didn’t really bother him. Just because he took the decision to sleep with someone more seriously didn’t meant that he thought she was flippant. She used sex as a distraction, but he’d never thought that’s what she was doing with him. Maybe Rhys should have said all that, but he didn’t want to ruin their fragile balance with what could very easily turn into a fight.  


“I didn’t think it meant nothing to you,” Rhys said, “And I don’t regret it, not at all. I just wish the circumstances were different.”  


Feyre leaned over and gave him a brief but meaningful kiss on the cheek, “I do too.” There was nothing else to say, so they drove back in silence. 

* * *

Eventually they got back to Rhys’ apartment. They just sat in the car for a while, neither wanting to suggest the inevitability that Feyre leave. She had turned her phone off, refusing to acknowledge how many times Tamlin had called her. She’d have to face him eventually, she just needed to come up with a game plan first.  


“What if you don’t go back tonight?” Rhys asked finally.  


“I would love that, but you know I have to.”  


“I’m not asking you to stay forever, just… stay for tonight.” Rhys thought letting her go now might break him in two. He couldn’t stand the thought of ending their first real night together by sending her back to Tamlin. Feyre bit her lip and Rhys knew she was trying to think of a way to let him down easy. Rhys was trying to school his face into indifference when Feyre surprised him by nodding her head yes.  


“Are you agreeing just to prove this was more than a one night stand?” he teased, “Because I don’t think that.”  


“You’re the one who asked me to stay,” she laughed.  


“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually consider it,” Rhys replied, the reality of not having to let her go making him feel almost giddy.  


“Let me call Elain,” Feyre replied, “She’ll cover for me.”  


Ten minutes later, Feyre had her cover story and she had called Tamlin to tell him she’d be with her sisters tonight. Rhys could tell from her body language that he hadn’t taken it well but Feyre refused to give him the details when he asked and he was too happy at the prospect of her staying over to push her. Then her phone was off and Rhys was promised her attention for the rest of the night.  


They were tangled up in each other again the moment they were through his apartment door. It occurred to Rhys that there might be people in his house, considering how frequently his friends decided make themselves at home. Rhys thought idly that anyone who interrupted them tonight would get their ass kicked. Thankfully they seemed to be alone and free to explore each other for hours and hours.  


The second time they had sex was slow but no less intense. It was made all the better for the fact that they didn’t have to rush it. As he was lost in the sensation of her mouth on him, Rhys thought idly that he would never get tired of her, of this. Of how safe he felt around her. Feyre called him a sentimental fool when he told, and her smile only made him love her more.  


The third time they had sex was interrupted by Feyre’s stomach rumbling. Loudly. Which sent both of them into a fit of giggles despite the fact that he was currently inside her.  


“Let’s take a time out,” Rhys said between laughs and he sat on the bed beside her. Feyre started to protest, but her stomach growled again, which shut her up. With a lingering kiss, Feyre elected to shower while Rhys made something for them. It was already past one in the morning, but sleep was so far from Rhys’ mind as he made pasta. He couldn’t imaging wasting a moment of time with Feyre while they slept, although the idea of holding her all night was mighty appealing. Much like during their last night together, Feyre hugged him from behind once she was done in the shower as he finished making dinner. The familiarity of it almost brought tears to his eyes. They ate only enough to satisfy their hunger before they got lost in each other again.  


At just past three in the morning, they were lying in bed with Feyre’s hand splayed across his chest and Rhys playing idly with her hair.  


“I knew I was in love with you at the cabin,” Rhys said, an answer to a question Feyre had asked hours ago but he hadn’t had an answer for, “That was the first time I fully realized it.” Feyre waited for him to continue, but there was nothing left for Rhys to say. He had no way to articulate all the things he’d felt for her, all the confusion of letting someone into his heart when he had been so badly hurt before.  


“I had been falling in love with you for a while,” she replied once it was clear he wasn’t going to continue, “But I knew it before then.”  


“You did?” Rhys asked. He had been so sure he had fallen in love with her first, so sure she couldn’t love him as much or as deeply as he loved her, “When?”  


“The first time we kissed, I think?” she mused, “At least that’s when I first thought I could love you.”  


“Since I’m so unlovable?” he teased.  


“No,” Feyre said seriously as she sat up to look at him, “You are _not_ unlovable, Rhysand,” she said. Whatever quip Rhys had at the use of his full name died as he saw how fierce her eyes were. He had known so many versions of Feyre over the months they’d been together. His mystery girl, his friend, his lover, his girlfriend. Looking at her now, Rhys couldn’t think of her as anything other than _his_. She was his, and he was hers and there was still so much to work out between them but Rhys couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it.  


“I’m sorry,” he said as he brushed his lips against her forehead, “It’s hard sometimes, after… everything.”  


“I know,” Feyre said as she settled back down against his chest, “But my hesitation had nothing to do with you, Rhys. _Nothing_.”  


“I know,” he said.  


But something had been unleashed inside Feyre, and suddenly what must have been months-worth of thoughts started spilling out of her, “I had tied so much of myself to Tamlin that I didn’t think I could be me without him. But then I moved in with you, then _Starfall_ happened and I realized I could love someone other than him. I could love you, and it scared the shit out of me. So I pushed you away, and ever since then I’d been looking for a reason to end this before I got hurt. Which isn’t fair, because you saved my life”  


“Feyre-” Rhys began, but she silenced him with a pinch to his chest. He could see the _don’t interrupt me, prick_ , playing in her eyes despite the seriousness of what she was saying, so Rhys laid back and let her continue.  


“I shouldn’t have left like that,” Feyre said after a moment, “I shouldn’t have left without telling you what was going on. I think I was still trying to punish myself for everything that I had done, for staying with Tamlin when I knew it was a mistake, for Amarantha, for trying to kill myself, for leaving my family. I didn’t think I deserved you, or your family. So I left because it was safe. But I was wrong. I’m sorry, Rhysand.”  


He stayed silent for a long moment, tears choking him whenever he tried to speak. He had no idea what to say, anyways, because he had done the same things to her. He had pushed her away whenever she tried to get closer. He had punished himself by not letting him love her as fully as he could. They were exactly the same. It was what made them work, but it was also what caused all of their problems.  


“I’m sorry too,” he said finally, “For all of it.”  


“I wish-” Feyre began, but she was interrupted by three short knocks on the door. Rhys cursed quietly as he reluctantly got out of bed and threw some clothes on. As he padded to the front door, the knocks continuing and got more instant. He was ready to chastise whoever had thought to come over at three in the fucking morning, but the words died on his lips as he opened up the door to Lucien, who looked the worse for wear.  


“Is Feyre here?” he asked. Rhys looked over the man, taking note first of what appeared to be a bruise forming around his right eye, then the wrist he was cradling against his chest, “Is she?” he asked again when Rhys stayed silent.  


Before Rhys could say anything, he heard a small gasp from behind him and then Feyre was in front of him and taking stock of Lucien the same way Rhys had. She looked ready to throw her arms around him, but was unsure if she’d hurt him. She settled for stepping towards him and gently gripping his forearms.  


“What the hell happened?” Feyre choked out finally as she examined his wrist.  


“We have to go,” was all Lucien said, as if he was barely holding himself together. Rhys could understand the sentiment.  


“What happened?” Rhys repeated.  


“Tamlin found out you weren’t with Elain,” Lucien said and Rhys thought his heart was going to stop dead in his chest, “You wouldn’t answer your phone so he went to check on you, and Elain said you’d left with me, then we got into a fight about it and-”  


“Slow down,” Feyre commanded with far more control than Rhys or Lucien seemed to be capable of at the moment, “So Tamlin think I’m with you?”  


“No,” Lucien said, “Now he thinks you’re back with Elain.”  


“So we have to get back to Elain’s before Tamlin realizes I’m not there,” Feyre finished. Her voice was already so resolved Rhys knew there was no way out of it. Rhys looked over Lucien again, at the evidence of what Tamlin had done to him and Rhys couldn’t help but feel guilty. Risks were so easy to take when Rhys and Feyre thought they would be the only ones who suffered the consequences. Feyre turned back towards him and Rhys saw his guilt mirrored in Feyre’s eyes, but there was no point talking about it right now, not when they were in a race against time.  


Rhys gave her a quick kiss on the lips, “I love you,” he said simply, “Call me when you can.”  


“I love you,” she said, tears in her eyes before turning back to Lucien. Rhys couldn’t read everything in the man’s eyes, but he could see at least fear and regret clearly. It broke 

Rhys’ heart to watch her go, but in Lucien’s eyes was a silent promise. He wasn’t going to turn his back on Feyre again, and Rhys’ couldn’t help but feel that with everyone working together, they had a fighting chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends. Sorry for the lack of update, I opened a show yesterday so last week was incredibly busy. I also know we've had a couple of filler chapters recently, I promise this story will actually start moving along again. Let me know what you think!


	27. Chapter 27

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Lucien commanded once they were in the car. He was driving like a maniac, but the only advantage they had was that Tamlin had been so panicked he had decided to go on foot while Lucien drove, and he wasn’t about to waste that.  


“Lucien-”  


“Don’t,” he interrupted, “I brought all of this on myself.”  


“Don’t talk like that,” she said slowly.  


“I’m sorry, Feyre,” he said after a moment, “I shouldn’t have… I thought with Rhys and Mor behind you, you didn’t need my help. I’m sorry I didn’t help you.”  


Lucien chanced a glance at her. There were a million emotions playing on her face, but none that Lucien could pinpoint. All she said was, “Tell me what happened.”  


“I already did.” Lucien said. There was not a chance in hell he was going to tell her everything Tamlin had said and done. She looked terrified enough without Lucien adding to it.  


“Lucien.”  


“Feyre, please, it was a hard night,” Lucien almost begged.  


“I need to know what I’m walking into,” she insisted and Lucien sighed, knowing she was right but not wanting to add to her burden any more than he already had. What was he doing? When Feyre had walked into Rita’s all those months ago, Lucien had promised her he was on her side, that she didn’t have to face Tamlin alone. Then he had led Tamlin right to her door. Lucien had made a judgement call on what Feyre would want more, her at risk or her sisters. Though he had been right, he’d regretted that decision every day since. Feyre had given up too much for a family that had given her nothing in return. If Lucien had it to do over again, he would have left Nesta and Elain to figure something out themselves. At least then Feyre never would never have had to go back to Tamlin, and maybe she’d be happy with Rhys.  


He couldn’t wrap his head around that one either. Lucien had only known Rhys as the villain in their story. He supposed he had Tamlin to thank for that one. He and Amarantha had done an excellent job in manipulating the story so the Spring Court stayed clean. Rhys and his friends wouldn’t come within a mile of Lucien, not after what his brother had done to Mor, so Lucien never got a chance to get the real story. He supposed he wouldn’t have believed in anyway. But seeing Rhysand with Feyre… she had seemed so happy the few times he had seen her before Tamlin came back and ruined everything. Not only happy, but she had seemed lighter than he had ever seen her, like she didn’t have a care in the world. He’d noted the bags under her eyes were getting better, like she was sleeping for the first time in months. She was gaining back the weight she had lost with Tamlin. Before that, Lucien couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Feyre smile.  


When Tamlin had called him to ask if Feyre was with him, he hadn’t had to think twice about lying. The lies slipped out of him easily. Lucien had never been able to lie to Tamlin before. Not about anything, and especially not about Feyre. It was because of Lucien that Tamlin even knew about the stalking. Feyre had begged him not to say anything, that she could handle it herself. Lucien knew that wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to tell _Tamlin_. Yes, Tamlin was as close as his brother, but Feyre was his friend in her own right. In the end, she was more like a sister than Tamlin was brother. It was hard for Lucien to not see everything that had happened this as his fault. He had told Tamlin about the stalking, Tamlin had tightened his grip on Feyre. Feyre had tried to kill herself, Tamlin had suffocated her further. Feyre had tied to leave, Tamlin had blackmailed her back. Everything traced back to Lucien not trusting Feyre.  


“I wish I knew what was going on in your head,” Feyre murmured some time later.  


“No you don’t,” he admitted.  


“I must already know,” Feyre said, “Because all I want to say is what bullshit it is.”  


Lucien couldn’t help but crack a smile and Feyre smiled back at him, and for just a moment everything felt okay, “I am sorry.” He repeated.  


“I know,” she said, “I’m sorry too.”  


“What in the world could you be sorry for?”  


“I missed you,” Feyre said, “I missed my friend. I shouldn’t have asked you to act against Tamlin.”  


“What if I told you I have been?” Feyre was quiet for so long that Lucien cast another glance at her only to see her staring blankly back at her.  


“I’d call you an idiot for working along.”  


Lucien let out a chuckle, which made his face hurt where Tamlin had punched it, “I’ve been an idiot for a lot of reasons.”  


“You need to tell me _everything_.”  


So he did. Months ago, when Feyre had first come to him, Lucien hadn’t fully believed her. What did Feyre know about the business? What could she know that Lucien hadn’t? He hadn’t been in charge of the Spring Court’s finances, but he did know about the inner workings of the company. Then he wondered exactly _why_ Tamlin had never let him look closely at the finances. Lucien had known Amarantha. Everyone in the game had. She was brilliant, and cruel. Rhys was lucky to have gotten her at Illyrian Night. Lucien had always figured Tamlin was trying to court her over to the Spring Court. He never thought Tamlin could be doing anything illegal. Not until now.  


Lucien would never tell Feyre, but he thought there was no way her plan could work. Tamlin would never let her close enough in the company to figure anything real out, not when she had been working for his enemy. Tamlin had told Lucien as much when she had come back. So Lucien thought the best way was to work alone. He never even thought he could figure it out. Tamlin had kept him sequestered enough over the years in producing and mixing that asking too manty questions would rouse suspicion. Lucien didn’t want to get Feyre’s hopes up just for him to turn up with nothing. And if he got caught, he wanted Feyre to have deniability.  


But he hadn’t gotten caught. And he hadn’t found nothing.  


No, he had found a whole lot of something.  


It turned out Tamlin wasn’t as good at covering his tracts as he thought he was, not when you knew where to look. And Lucien knew where to look. Tamlin had always been a meticulous book keeper. Which meant that in addition to his forgeries that kept Amarantha out of the Spring Court, there were also accurate books. Accurate books that outlined his fraud as well as the original copies of the forgeries that implicated Rhys. Lucien had already taken care of those, now there was only making sure he got all the copies. And in case he didn’t, now Lucien had proof that Amarantha had been helping him alter the books.  


Lucien was going to have everything settled by the end of the month, then Feyre could go home. It was perfect.  


Then tonight happened.  


Lucien had been lying and Tamlin had known it. He called Lucien out on it, but he had stood his ground. Then it had just escalated from there, and Lucien had been saying things that had been building up for a decade without ever meaning to. And then Lucien had gone too far, had implied that Feyre could do better than him, _had been_ doing better than him. Deserved better than him.  


It had left Lucien with a black eye and a sprained wrist. But it had been worth it. _Finally_ standing up to Tamlin after ten years of being pushed down had been worth it. He told Feyre as much, but he could still see her worrying her lip out of the corner of his eye.  


“Don’t look at me like that,” Lucien said finally, long after he was done with his story, “I don’t deserve that look Feyre.”  


"You tell me you’ve actually been working with me for months and you don’t think you deserve my worry?”  


“I _know_ I don’t,” he insisted, “I’ve been letting you down for months. No, years, Feyre.”  


“I don’t care about year, Luc,” she said as she gently wove their fingers together, “You’re hear now.”  


“You’re my best friend, you know that right.”  


“Don’t tell Mor, but you’re my best friend too.”  


“I don’t think I’ll ever be telling Mor anything,” he confessed.  


“You’ll have to,” Feyre said, then when Lucien shot her a confused look, “Considering you’re going to come work with Illyrian Night when this is all over.”  


Lucien nearly crashed the car with the surprise, “Are you insane,” he barked. “Feyre, they hate me.”  


“But they don’t hate me, and I love you,” Feyre said simply, “Besides, they only know the you that worked with Tamlin. They don’t know the you that I know.”  


Lucien shook his head, “There’s too much history between us all, Feyre,” he said, “I know you mean well, but I can never work for Rhys.”  


Feyre looked at him and squeezed his hands, “Trust me,” she said. Lucien couldn’t stand to say no to her again, not when they seemed to be in a balance again, so he squeezed her hand back. There was no way he was going to work for Illyrian Night. Rhys hated him. Mor hated him. The rest of the Nights hated him. Not even Feyre could surmount that, no matter how much she believed in him. Lucien couldn’t even say he blamed the Nights for that hatred. A lot of what happened with Eris had been his fault. But that was something Feyre could hear from Mor on another day.  


“Let’s talk about something else,” Feyre said finally, “I still don’t know what I’m walking into here.”  


“He’s pissed,” Lucien admitted “It didn’t help that Iantha said you’d been lying to her about where you’ve been going for weeks.”  


“Fucking Ianthe,” Feyre swore, “It’s like I’m living in fucking 1984.”  


“You couldn’t not live with her?” Lucien suggested.  


“And live with who?” Feyre asked, “I can’t move back with Nesta and Elain, and I can’t afford my own place.”  


“Move in with me,” Lucien said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them but he couldn’t regret saying them.  


“What?”  


“It’s perfect,” Lucien said, “It’s close enough to Tamlin that he won’t get nervous, but it’s also me.”  


“Tamlin always thought we were having an affair,” Feyre pointed out. Not unfairly despite the fact that Lucien had been in and out of relationships the whole time she and Tamlin had been together.  


“Just think about it,” Lucien said.  


They sat in silence for the last few minutes of the drive. Finally, Lucien pulled up to Elain’s house. Mercifully, it looked as if they had beaten Tamlin there. At least one thing tonight had gone right.  


“One last thing,” Lucien said as he turned to her, “When it’s time for you to leave, I have something you can use against Tamlin.”  


“And what’s that?”  


“Amarantha,” he said. Then when Feyre said nothing, “I think he was having an affair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friend, sorry for the delay and for the shorter chapter. I have finals this week and have been drowning in my work. As always, let me know what you think!


	28. Chapter 28

Feyre had expected to walk in on all hell breaking lose. Worst case scenario was that Tamlin had beaten them home and Feyre would have to lie her way out of it again, and possibly lose Tamlin’s trust in the process. What she didn’t expect was for something to go her fucking way for once.  


Yet that’s exactly what had happened.  


Feyre had walked back in on a crying, but solitary Elain. They had calmed down together and Lucien left once they’d worked out a cover story. Lucien hadn’t wanted to leave, but it made no sense that he’d come back here if he knew that’s where Feyre was. He also hadn’t wanted to leave without her promising to move in with him, but Feyre just wasn’t ready to open that particular Pandora’s Box yet.  


At the worst of Tamlin’s jealousy, he had be certain that she and Lucien had been sleeping together. Had been going behind his back since the beginning. The idea was stupid for about a million different reasons, the most insulting to her was that Lucien had been engaged at the time to a nice guy from his grad school. They’d ended up breaking up soon after, not just because of Tamlin and his obsession with keeping tabs on people but Lucien had told Feyre it had played a role (It took an even more insulting turn now that there was a possibility Tamlin had been cheating on her the whole time, but Feyre didn’t have the time or mental capacity to splice _that_ particular issue yet).  


So while moving in with him would solve every one of her security problems, it probably wasn’t worth it to ignite Tamlin’s suspicions all over again. Not when he actually had something to be suspicious of this time. Eventually Feyre got Lucien out the door with a promise to call him first if she needed anything. She and Elain started a movie halfway through so it looked like she’d been there for hours and waited.  


And waited.  


And waited.  


But nothing happened.  


No one at the door. No phone calls or texts. Radio silence.  


Feyre couldn’t even let herself enjoy the peace, because she knew all too well that peace often came just before everything fell apart. At least Elain seemed to trust the quiet and soon she was dozing off with her legs draped across Feyre’s lap. She glanced at the clock, almost 3 in the morning. She looked back to Elain, who she knew stayed asleep once she finally fell asleep. Ever so carefully she disentangled her sister’s legs from her own and draped a blanket across her sleeping form.  


It was too late to go out, but Feyre was too restless to sleep. She couldn’t call Rhys because all that would do was worry him and she had turned his life upside down enough. _I’m at Elain’s, I’m safe_. She’d sent him that text hours ago and he’d sent back an _I love you, let me know if you need anything_ and she didn’t want to risk sending him anything else. She wished she could have saved the messages, saved him number again. But Tamlin used to check her phone and she didn’t know when/if she’d he’d start doing that again so it was better to just not take the risk no matter how much it killed her to see the ‘I love you’ vanish from the screen. She eventually settled on calling Lucien, just so she didn’t go insane with turning over all the possibilities in her mind.  


“Feyre?” he asked. His voice was husky with sleep and Feyre immediately felt guilty for waking him. There was nothing to worry about so why was she worrying? And why was she bringing everyone else down with her?  


“Sorry,” she said immediately, “I’m fine. I’m just nervous that I’m fine. Did he call you?”  


“No,” he answered. He sounded alert now, on edge. Just the same way Feyre felt and now she knew she wasn’t just being paranoid. Silence from Tamlin was never a good thing, “He hasn’t called you?”  


“No,” she said as she paced around the kitchen. It was a struggle to keep her voice low enough to not wake Elain. The last thing she needed right now was to worry her sister, not when Feyre had already put her in danger once today.  


“Do you want me to come back over?”  


“No,” Feyre responded, “If he think I’m nervous he’ll need to know the reason why. No news is good news right?”  


“Sure,” Lucien said unconvincingly, “Let me know if you need anything.” Feyre told him the same and that she loved him then she was just alone with her thoughts again. She flirted with the idea of calling Tamlin, but it was almost 4 in the morning. He’d know something was up. It would have to wait until a reasonable time, but that meant several more hours of this obsessing and Feyre thought she was liable to lose her mind like this. But there was nothing else to do, so Feyre worried and she didn’t sleep. 

* * *

_Do you want to get dinner tonight?_ She had sent Tamlin that at 8 AM, when she knew he’d be awake on a weekday morning. It was 10 now and he still hadn’t responded. The thought of being alone with him nauseated Feyre, but the alternative was letting the silence go on and she was at her wit’s end. One dinner was better than just waiting for him to strike.  


Of course, that dinner was contingent on that fact that Tamlin actually answer her. Which he showed no indication of doing. If she was home (her actual home, with Rhys and Mor), Feyre would have been at work hours ago. She would’ve been running late probably and Rhys, who was always up earlier than her, would hand her a bagel or toast or something as she flew out the door. As it was, she didn’t have an office to go to. When Tamlin had agreed to let her work for the Spring Court, her contract had stated she was “allowed” (required) to work from home and she only had to come in for essential meetings. Only private client meetings were essential for her, and since she had given up her latest draft of her current project days ago she didn’t have any reason to go into the office. Ambushing him at the office would at least have gotten a reaction out of him, but Feyre wasn’t quite that desperate yet. Instead, Feyre was nursing her third cup of coffee and it had gone cold about 20 minutes ago and she was doodling halfheartedly.  


Feyre yearned for a brush in her hand, but she’d never had time to move any of her material out of Rhys’ place. Besides, she wanted her real art and Tamlin an entire universe apart. She hadn’t shown him work with any heart in it in years and she didn’t want Tamlin to know that part of her anymore. Not that he had understood any of it anyways. She wasn’t classically trained, but Feyre had spent years studying and trying to perfect her craft as much as she could without a tuition fee. But for Tamlin, any skill that came without a diploma was a glorified hobby. Any time she’d tried to explain her techniques or her work in depth, Tamlin would brush her off. Feyre’s knuckles tightened around her mug involuntarily. Weeks without any real sparring was putting her on edge. But she couldn’t risk going to the gym again, not when she had taken so many other risks lately.  


Her phone buzzed and Feyre was on it in an instant, but it was only Lucien checking up on her. _Anything?_ His text read.  


_Not yet_ , she shot back, _I asked him if he wanted to get dinner tonight and nothing._  


_Weird. I haven’t seen him in the office today._  


_I have a bad feeling about this._  


_So do I. Hang in there._  


They texted sporadically throughout the day, but despite that Feyre was thoroughly bored. She wanted to go out. She wanted to work. She wanted to call Rhys. She wanted to do _something_. She wondered how she was ever able to stay alone doing nothing all day when Tamlin had made her quit the gallery. She wondered how no one had seen how she was dying inside and did nothing. Feyre played with her leather bands and just let herself stew.  


When her phone rang an hour and a half later, she was so startled she jumped. Tamlin. It was Tamlin. This had been what she wanted, but Feyre was still overcome with a wave of dread at the prospect of actually speaking to him.  


“Hello?” she asked, schooling her voice into calm and unbothered.  


“Feyre,” he sighed. He sounded relieved, “I’m surprised you picked up.”  


“Why?” she asked, the perfect act of innocence.  


“Did Lucien not tell you?”  


“Not Lucien,” Feyre lied, “Elain told me what happened, but I was waiting for you to explain yourself. You didn’t call me all not or all morning, I was worried Tam.”  


“I thought you’d be angry. I was giving you some space,” he answered. If he hadn’t threatened her sister and punched her best friend in the face, Feyre might have been touched that he seemed to finally be realizing that just pushing and pushing got him nowhere with her.  


“I should have told you I went out with Lucien,” Feyre replied, willing some actual repentance into her voice. Sometimes this was just too easy, all she had to do was pretend to be the doe-eyed simple girl Tamlin wanted her to be and he was done, “I’m sorry.”  


“I’m sorry too, Feyre, I should have trusted you.”  


“You shouldn’t have trusted Ianthe,” the words were out of her mouth before she couldn’t stop them. This conversation was going so well Feyre was ready to start pushing her luck. She knew how quickly Tamlin’s moods could turn, but she was in a position to actually get something here and she wanted to seize it.  


“She didn’t know where you were either,” Tamlin reasoned, “She was just as worried as I was.”  


“I know she’s been telling you my every move. I don’t appreciate it, Tamlin,” Feyre said.  


“I don’t ask her to,” he argued, “It’s not my fault if she likes to gossip.”  


“I want to move out,” Feyre continued, “I want to move in with Lucien.”  


“What?” Tamlin asked. And that edge was back to his voice, the one that normally made Feyre back down, the one that terrified her. But she wasn’t scared of him anymore, not now that she had some real backup and they finally seemed to be nearing the end of this ridiculous situation.  


“He has an extra room and I don’t want to be spied on anymore,” Feyre pushed. She had spent so long trying to pick her battles, but this was a battle she wanted- needed- to win. It’d make this whole thing infinitely easier if Lucien was nearby. It might just save her life.  


“Did he ask you to move in?”  


“We had talked about it,” she lied easily, “When I had first come back and didn’t know where to go. He had offered then, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind now.”  


“Feyre-,” Tamlin warned.  


“Do you remember when we first started going out,” she continued, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice, “Remember when it was just the three of us? I want it to be like that again. Just me, my best friend and the love of my life.”  


“I don’t like this,” Tamlin continued, but Feyre knew that she’d won.  


“You said you should have trusted me last night,” Feyre said, “So trust me.” Tamlin sighed one last time, but Feyre was already celebrating her victory. She shot Lucien a quick text as soon as she was off the phone _If Tamlin asks, I asked you if I could move in with you_.  


Seconds later, the reply came. _Sounds good, roommate._

* * *

Two weeks later she was all moved in with Lucien. She could call Rhys every night without worrying about Ianthe reporting her. She was tempted to try a little bit of painting but while she was optimistic she wouldn’t allow herself to go over the top. Things were looking up, but she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  


It was hard to keep her excitement in check though when it was just her and Lucien watching shitty rom coms and drinking beer. It felt just like the good old days when she and Tamlin had first started going out. It wasn’t making her miss Tam, but she was nostalgic for the first time in her life that had any sort of security. She’d felt safe that first year. She’d loved Tamlin and she’d loved Lucien’s shitty apartment that had no heat and loud neighbors. She’d had someone who loved her and a friend she trusted with everything. It had felt so good and she hadn’t even appreciated it at the time.  


She was appreciating this peace now, but she missed the naiveté of not having to appreciate every little thing because she didn’t know back then there was no such thing as true safety. It was exhausting to make herself grateful for the simple pleasures of friendship.  


Feyre wanted to say that she could separate Tamlin from that vision, but she, Tam and Lucien used to be a triumvirate and as much as she hated him, it was nice sometimes for the three of them to all be together. She hadn’t completely lied to Tamlin, she had missed when life was just the three of them and anyone else could go fuck themselves. She missed feeling like she was a part of something. She had Illyrian Night and all the wonderful things that came with it, but she hadn’t had a chance to truly belong there before she’d had to leave. So if Tamlin happened to come join Lucien and her in their slasher movie marathons… Feyre didn’t feel guilty to not entirely hate it.  


Of course, that feeling only lasted until she and Lucien were alone again and they got back to work. Feyre couldn’t even imagine how long she would have to stay here without Lucien’s help. The corruption of the Spring Court ran far deeper than even Amren had thought. It wasn’t just changing contracts and infiltrating other companies, the Spring Court itself was built on decade’s worth of fraud. Long before Tamlin had inherited the company from his father, the Spring Court had been skimming profits and putting thousands each year in off shore accounts. Feyre wasn’t even sure if _Tamlin_ knew the extent of his father’s crimes. He would though. At the rate they were going, Feyre would be free before the month was out. She wasn’t banking on nothing unexpected happening, because every time she thought she had made it, something always came up. But she was feeling cautiously optimistic.  


“It’s my birthday, you have to come,” Mor whined over the phone as Feyre got herself ready for some errands the next day. She was enjoying the simple pleasure of being able to go grocery shopping without Ianthe asking where she’d be and when she was coming back. Feyre marveled for the millionth time how she’d never truly had an adult life independent of anyone. She was enjoying it. She was flirting with the idea of maybe getting her own place instead of moving in with Rhys, but the thought of living with him and seeing him and his family whenever she wanted was just too tempting to entertain the idea for more than a few minutes at a time.  


“I told you I can’t,” she replied as she tied her hair up into a messy bun, “It’s too risky.”  


“It’s my _birthday_.”  


“It’s your 27th birthday, not exactly a milestone,” Feyre countered.  


“It’s just one night, please Feyre?” she asked.  


“No.”  


“Pleeeeeeease,” she continued, and Feyre sighed. She wanted nothing more than be with everyone just for one night. But knowing her luck, this would be the night that Tamlin would call on her and everything would come crashing down. He had been just a bit too respectful of her space and boundaries ever since she had moved in with Lucien. He was like the Tamlin of the old days, that man Feyre thought could do no wrong. She was just waiting for him to snap, and Feyre wasn’t going to take any unnecessary risks. Not when she was sure she’d have years and years of birthdays to spend with Mor when all this was over.  


“I really am sorry, Mor,” Feyre said. And she was. Feyre was already planning the painting in her head that she’d gift Mor when all this was over to show her just how sorry she was. It would be a picture of Mor in a field, triumphant and fierce. Surrounded by flowers and nature just as she was supposed to be. It was beautiful in her mind, Feyre just didn’t have the materials to put it to canvas yet.  


“You’re a really terrible best friend,” Mor grumbled but there was no heat in it. Feyre felt a little guilty that she had defeated Mor so easily. This separation had already gone on longer than any of them had thought it would and the time was wearing on everyone.  


“I love you, Mor,” Feyre said sincerely, “And I miss you more than anything. It’s almost over, I promise.”  


“I know,” Mor sighed, “And you’re right, it just sucks.”  


“It does suck,” Feyre agreed, “But it’ll over soon.”  


“I know,” Mor repeated, “I’m sorry to keep you so long, I’m sure you have stuff to do.”  


“Now that my job is a joke, not really,” Feyre said, “I have nothing but time and nothing worth doing to fill it.”  


“So you don’t even have a real reason for missing my birthday,” she pouted.  


“Enough,” Feyre laughed, “I was actually about to run some errands, so I should-”  


“Feyre?” A voice called from the front of the house. Tamlin. _Shit_. Feyre hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye and struggled with her shaking hands to delete her call history. She should have made sure the front door was locked. Sloppy.  


“Back here,” Feyre called when she finally sorted herself out, “What’re you doing here?” Feyre forced herself to endure the lingering kiss Tamlin left on her cheek. Feyre had made herself be less conservative with her physical affection, but she and Tamlin hadn’t slept together again. That was a line she wasn’t going to cross again if she could help it. Of course, she couldn’t refuse to ever kiss him or let him hold her. She’d been able to hide the rest under the guise of wanting to go slow again and Tamlin was respecting that for now.  


“Can’t I surprise my girlfriend with a romantic lunch?”  


“Of course you can,” Feyre smiled, “But I didn’t expect anyone to be here, you scared me.”  


“You should keep that door locked,” he chided, “Who knows who could wander in.”  


“You’re right,” _Who knows indeed._  


“Anyways, we’re going out to lunch.”  


“Don’t you have to work?” Feyre asked.  


“I worked late last night so I’d have all afternoon free,” Tamlin replied with a smile. It made Feyre’s stomach churn, but she couldn’t quite place why.  


“Am I dressed alright?” Feyre asked as she gestured to her leggings and t shirt.  


“You might want to put on something nicer,” Tamlin admitted with that same smile, the one Tamlin always had when he had a real surprise planned for her. She took stock of his nice slacks and dress shirt. Oh god, what did he have planned? Feyre plastered on a smile and allowed Tamlin to pull down a blouse from her closet. She resisted the urge to turn around as she changed and soon she was as ready as she’d ever be for whatever was coming.

* * *

It was a nice restaurant. Too nice for the distance Feyre had been trying to keep between them. None of that distance was here now. Tamlin hadn’t let go of her hand the entire drive there and now he was pulling out a chair for her at the kind of restaurant people celebrated birthdays at. Feyre wasn’t sure she’d be able to make herself eat. They talked meaninglessly about their days, the contracts Tamlin was sure he had locked down (more than one former Illyrian Night client, Feyre noted), the concepts Feyre had floating around in her mind.  


“You haven’t been working on any paintings,” Tamlin noted, “I couldn’t help but notice none of your supplies were at Lucien’s. Do you have a secret studio somewhere?”  


“No,” Feyre bit her lip weighing to pros and cons of telling the truth, “All my stuff is still at Rhys’.”  


“I see.”  


“It didn’t feel right to go back and get it,” she continued, making excuses even though she hadn’t done anything wrong.  


“I could go get it?”  


“No,” Feyre said too fast, “I don’t want either of us to see them again. I’ll just buy new supplies.”  


“It seems a shame to abandon whatever you’d been working on though,” Tamlin mused. Feyre tried not to narrow her eyes. Since when did Tamlin care so much about her art? Why was he suddenly so anxious to see Rhys? But if Feyre continued to argue he’d demand to know why. The dread knotting her stomach only grew.  


“Okay,” she finally said, “You can go get them. Thank you.”  


“Maybe we should go together,” Tamlin said.  


“Why?”  


“I don’t want anything to turn into a fight,” he said, “If it was just to two of us, I’m not sure either of us would be able to control ourselves.”  


“I’m sure you’d be able to control yourself.”  


“I appreciate your faith in me,” Tamlin laughed, pleased at her dig at Rhys, “But Rhys and I have a long and not entirely pleasant history. I think it would be better if you were there as a buffer.”  


“Okay,” Feyre replied trying to figure out the glimmer in his eye. After that, they went back to meaningless small talk and Feyre tried to push aside her budding panic. Eventually, Feyre excused herself to clean up after dessert. And when she came back, sitting on the table in the same velvet box she’d seen it in almost a year ago was her old engagement ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. I know it's been awhile. Some life things happened and I just didn't have it in me to write. Them I realized the ending I had originally planned for this just wasn't going to work the way I wanted it to, so I had to scrap basically the rest of this story and start from scratch. Finally, I moved abroad for the next several months and all my energy was focused on finding a place to live. But I am happily in a decent apartment and kinda figured out how to wrap this up so we're back! As always, let me know what you think!


	29. Chapter 29

Only being able to call Feyre once a day was killing him. To have her so close yet so far was killing him. Her living with Lucien instead of Ianthe was killing him a little less, but knowing how much more often Tamlin visited her now that he didn’t have a spy was killing him.  


And all this was ridiculous because Rhys was getting so much more from her than he had in the months since she’d left. It felt ridiculous to keep wanting more, but he was greedy for her. Now that they’d had a real night together, all he wanted was another one. Then another after than that. And another after that. And another and another until he had no more nights left, it seemed.  


The sudden solitude was also making him dramatic.  


At least that’s what Mor thought when she begged him to get Feyre to come to her birthday party. She hadn’t actually asked Feyre yet, but she was sure she would say no, as she should have. As much as Rhys wanted his whole family together celebrating long into the night, the risk of having Feyre found here were just too great. He was content to take that risk when it was just the two of them, but the second he’d have to share her, his bravery faltered. Mor had called him out on it and Rhys had been stewing ever since. She’d accused him of being selfish and reckless, and she was right.  


Feyre didn’t risk calling any of his inner circle other than him very often, and he could tell the others were getting irritable about it. Rhys couldn’t control the way Feyre used her limited free time, but he understood that she didn’t want any more people put in danger than was absolutely necessary. Rhys understood that, it was why he’d never told anyone other than Mor and Amren more than the barest details of what had happened with Amarantha.  


Not only that, but Rhys also knew how hard it was to hide things from his friends. Feyre was still learning how to open herself up, and Mor and Cass in particular could always pick out exactly what was bothering someone. It was an invaluable part of their friendship, but it was also exhausting sometimes. To have someone who could so accurately pinpoint when something was off made it hard to cope a lot of the time. So yes, Rhys fully understood why Feyre was withdrawn. But that didn’t mean the others understood of put up with it. Rhys would be pissed about it too if he wasn’t the one monopolizing Feyre.  


But now it looked like there was an end in sight. Rhys and Lucien had never been the best of friends, even when they were on speaking terms with Tamlin. There was always just a little bit too much history and a little too much aggression split between them all to make a real friendship possible. But now they all had one common goal: get Feyre the hell away from Tamlin. And it was one that seemed to be repairing everything that had broken between them. Lucien didn’t report back to Rhys, but he did keep him in the loop. When Feyre was coy and secretive, Lucien would tell him what was actually happening. How close they were to an end. The potential risks.  


It seemed like they were weeks away from revealing everything they had found. At worst, it would be a month.  


There was nothing elaborate planned, no dramatic reveals. They were simply going to turn everything they had over to the police. The Spring Court had many important ties, but not even they would be able to get out of the thousands of documents outlining the fraud and embezzlement they’d been committing for literal decades. Figuring out how to disentangle Illyrian Night from that web was proving to be complicated, but not impossible. It was mostly just time consuming, but Amren and Azriel had been working almost day and night to ensure whatever “proof” the Spring Court had on them, Illyrian Night had something to debunk it. Amarantha had been thorough, but she wasn’t perfect. Amren was the only person he knew to be perfect. Amarantha’s record keeping was trumped only by Amren’s own personal ones, and they were proving to be flawless so far.  


They were nearing a conclusion alright, and if everything went according to plan Tamlin would be out of their lives forever.  


But things rarely went according to plan, and Rhys should really have expected Tamlin to show up on his doorstep. With Feyre in tow a step behind him. His shock was the only thing that stopped Rhys from decking Tamlin right then and there. That, and the very thin self-control he had and the small part of his brain that knew he had to keep Feyre’s cover. But mostly disbelief that this was even happening at all. In a split second, though, Rhys had his mask back on and he gave Tamlin an easy grin. The way Tamlin’s eyes narrowed let Rhys know that he’d been caught, but Rhys could worry about that later. He didn’t allow himself a glance at Feyre behind him even though he ached to.  


“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Rhys asked politely as he leaned against the doorframe, the very picture of effortless calm.  


“Feyre’s art supplies are still here,” Tamlin replied, “I thought it was time we collected them.”  


Rhys shrugged, “I haven’t been holding them hostage.”  


“It seemed… careless to come back and get them considering the way we left things.” Rhys’ blood was boiling at the way Tamlin spoke for Feyre as if she wasn’t even there, but all he could do was go along with the act. Feyre didn’t seem to be making a move to speak for herself. Rhys resisted the urge to throw a questioning look her way.  


“What do you mean?” Rhys asked feigning cluelessness, “Feyre broke up with me and went back to you. People leave, it happens. I wouldn’t have locked Feyre in if she dared to collect her things.” Tamlin glared at the jab, but Rhys didn’t allow himself the pleasure of smirking. Rhys got his first good look at Feyre as Tamlin passed through his door. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. If Rhys hadn’t been staring at her so intently, he wouldn’t have caught it. Her eyes seemed to say _don’t fight, not matter what he says_. Rhys wasn’t intending on starting a fight, but he wondered what could have prompted this visit that made Feyre worry about Rhys’ restraint. Not that he’d always been perfect at the self-control game, but he thought Feyre had more faith in him that that.  


“Is this all of it?” Tamlin asked as he gestured to the single canvas and easel on the kitchen table and the small selection of acrylic paints. Rhys hadn’t had it in him to ever fully clean the last remnants of Feyre out of the apartment. The paints were one of the parts of her he couldn’t bear to get rid of. He kept them exactly as Feyre left him. When she’d left, Rhys thought she had maybe left them strewn about as a message for him to wait for her. Now, It seemed more like it simply hadn’t been practical for her to take them with her in the night. Still, Rhys didn’t let this devastation show on his face.  


“They’re strewn everywhere. Her bedroom… my bedroom,” he said with a cocky grin.  


“Rhys please,” Feyre murmured as she laid a hand on Tamlin’s arm to calm him. Rhys couldn’t be sure if this meekness was an act or if she truly needed to deescalate the situation. He could only keep playing his role.  


“Come on, Darling,” Rhys purred, “I’m you’ve told him all the dirty details.”  


Feyre flinched at the words and tightened her grip on Tamlin, “I told you it was a bad idea for me to come with you.”  


“I needed to make sure he wouldn’t keep anything,” Tamlin replied.  


“Why would I keep anything?” Rhys questioned, “Like I said, Feyre left me. I’m not set on holding on to her.” A lie, a complete lie. One that Tamlin didn’t seem to be buying as he collected the paints and brushes that littered the space. Feyre refused to make eye contact with Rhys no matter how many looks he threw her way. There was something off about her, she looked weirdly stiff, more uncomfortable than she should be. Of course she wouldn’t be _comfortable_ , not when her current boyfriend and the man who thought she loved him were in the same room, but there was just something about the way she was standing that made Rhys unable to look away from her despite that fact that Tamlin Spring was currently ransacking his house. Anytime Rhys made a move to skootch a little closer to her, she mirrored him and shuffled a few inches away.  


“What’s going on?” he murmured the moment Tamlin was out of the room.  


“I’m not sure,” she said. Rhys didn’t believe her, but Tamlin was back in earshot before Rhys could question her further.  


“Is this everything, Darling?” Tamlin asked as he shot a look to Rhys. His fists clenched at his sides at the prick using his nickname for Feyre, but there was nothing he could do.  


“I think so,” she said meekly. Then, three things happened at about the same time. First, Tamlin held out the bag of art supplies. Second, Feyre took it which caused the sleeves of her sweatshirt to ride up past where she was carefully keeping them balled over her hands. Her left hand in particular. Third, Rhys caught sight of the ostentatious emerald adorning her finger. 

* * *

“Open the fucking door,” Cassian yelled as he pounded on Rhys’ front door. He had been calling Rhys all night, ever since he had seen the announcement.  


Feyre and Tamlin’s engagement announcement.  


It was everywhere. Across every tabloid and industry newspaper: the Spring Court CEO was marrying his longtime girlfriend, a recent addition to his illustration team. Most articles had just glossed over the fact that Feyre had been with Illyrian Night for months, or they didn’t mention it at all. All of them were fluff pieces wishing the couple the best. Most of them didn’t mention Feyre by name at all. That was what pissed Cassian off the most strangely enough.  


Cassian hoped he had been the first one to see it, but he doubted it. When you were high profile in a business like theirs, news spread like wildfire. Feyre had never been as involved in the Spring Court as she should have been considering she’d been dating Tamlin for 5 years, but she was a name now and everyone knew even if the media refused to acknowledge it.  


“Rhysand Night open the door or I swear I’ll break it down,” Cassian bellowed again. The first articles had come out around 10 PM. It was almost 1 now. It would only be worse tomorrow, then it would die down. But tonight… tonight was going to be bad. Maybe Rhys didn’t know. Maybe somehow no one had told him, maybe he’d been offline all night. Maybe Cassian would actually be there this time to support him when it all came crashing down, unlike every other time Rhys thought it was best to deal with his problems on his own.  


He and Feyre deserved each other, Cassian decided.  


Somehow she’d thought an engagement wasn’t worth the trouble of calling any of them. He’d deal with Feyre later. It’s not like she’d pick up the phone, and he had no fucking clue where she was.  


Right now, he could only deal with Rhys. At least he knew Rhys, knew he was probably sitting in that apartment all by himself brooding. In his rush to get here, Cassian had left his key (the key Rhys didn’t know he had) and he refused to go back for it now.  


Goddamn it.  


Cassian had really wanted to avoid making this seem like an ambush, but since he refused to leave and Rhys refused to open the door, there was really no other choice.  


“I’m calling Mor,” he threatened, hoping maybe that would be enough to get Rhys to open the goddamn door already. But still, nothing. So Cassian made good on his threat and soon not only was Mor there, but so was Az and Amren. Cass hadn’t even called her, he had no clue how she’d found out. Even after years of her pulling that psychic shift, it still surprised Cass every time.  


Soon they were all in Rhys’ apartment.  


And Rhys apparently wasn’t.  


They didn’t even bother searching or calling.  


In the wake of what was probably the worst case scenario, Rhysand Night was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! A shorter chapter this time, I know. But as always, let me know what you thought!


	30. Chapter 30

“Do you understand why I did this, Feyre?” Tamlin asked a short time later. No, she didn’t. And Feyre didn’t particularly care about the _why_. She couldn’t unsee the look in Rhys’ eyes when he first saw the engagement ring. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but Feyre swore it had been minutes before Rhys drew his eyes back up to hers, and another eternity before he looked over to Tamlin.  


In that infinity, Feyre saw confusion, denial, anger, then finally acquiescence. By the time his eyes moved back to Tamlin, Rhys’ mask was firmly back on, but he couldn’t hide that devastation from Feyre. The ring had only been on her finger for a few hours and Feyre already felt the weight of it pulling her to the earth. She’d been hoping that Rhys would never even know about it. She hadn’t been able to think of an excuse not to say yes in the moment, so she’d slipped the ring back on and tried her best to play the blushing, giddy fiancé she had been the first time she’d proposed, but she’d had no intention of keeping it on. Feyre played with it idly and flirted with the idea of gouging Tamlin’s eye out with the ostentatious emerald.  


It hadn’t even been a real proposal. There hadn’t been any getting down on one knee and confessing how he couldn’t live without her, not like he’d been the first time he’d proposed more than two years ago. This had seemed almost perfunctory.  


Feyre had seen the ring on the table. She’d stared at it for too long, and she’d looked back up at Tamlin with tears threatening to spill.  


“It’s time, don’t you think?” Tamlin had said. His eyes looked haunted, almost like this was paining him as much as it was her. Almost as if he was playing the game now just to win, not because he actually wanted her. Then Tamlin blinked and it was gone. That emptiness was replaced by the smugness of someone who knew she was going to say yes. She hadn’t even said it. She’d simply slid the ring onto her finger. It was a Wednesday night, there was barely anyone in the restaurant to celebrate the proposal, and Feyre was infinitely grateful there had been no champagne or pictures.  


The whole thing had struck Feyre like a chess match where she’d been checkmated almost immediately. No matter where she moved, Tamlin had her trapped. Feyre was learning to pick her battles, and she’d decided this was one she could afford to lose. Putting on a ring wasn’t the same as signing a marriage license or saying ‘I do’. In the end, a ring was just a ring and Feyre could live with a few weeks of wearing his stupid ring when they were so close to the end. Tamlin hadn’t even looked particularly happy when she did it, just relieved this wasn’t a battle he needed to fight. Feyre hadn’t been paying enough to attention on the drive to realize they were going to Rhys’ until they were already there.  


“Now, Tam?” Feyre had asked, not having the energy to even imbue her voice with the love she normally did with him. Not when the ring was pulling on her like an anchor.  


“Why not now?” he replied. Feyre hadn’t had an answer for that, so they’d gone in. Feyre hadn’t realize Tamlin meant for Rhys to see the ring until a split second before it was about to happen. Sometime between Feyre lifting her arm and her cardigan sleeve riding up, Feyre saw the ensuing moment with frightening clarity but couldn’t do anything to stop it. Tamlin had come here with the express purpose of breaking Rhysand’s heart. If not his heart, then his spirit. And it had worked. It had worked and Tamlin knew it.  


“I asked you a question, Feyre,” Tamlin said as she stayed silent and stewed in her own thoughts.  


“I don’t know, Tamlin,” Feyre snapped, “to be an asshole?”  


“Don’t be like that, darling,” Tamlin replied as he wound their hands together. Feyre was paying more attention this time to make sure Tamlin was actually taking her back to 

Lucien’s. There was dread in the back of her mind that he was actually taking her back to his place, but it didn’t seem like a celebratory kind of night. It would have broken Feyre’s heart that her life was reduced to finding excuses not to sleep with the man she’d once thought was the love of her life, but there wasn’t really anything left to break in this moment.  


“Don’t call me that,” she said under her breath, but there was no venom in it.  


“I can call my fiancé whatever I like,” Tamlin said, his words dripping with sweet poison. Feyre very nearly gagged as he pulled her hand up and placed a kiss upon it, “Darling.” 

Feyre felt the fight rising up in her and it took a concerted effort to swallow it down.  


“Since you’re not in the mood to answer my questions, I’ll just give you the answer,” Tamlin began, his grip on her hand firm and unyielding. As he drove, he played with the ring on her finger, “I needed Rhysand to see this little game you’ve been playing was over.”  


At that, Feyre’s stomach dropped and she schooled her face into a picture of confusion, “Rhys and I broke up months ago.”  


“I don’t mean your relationship,” Tamlin replied, “Even though I know you’re lying about that, too.”  


Feyre couldn’t quite stop herself from flinching at that one, and she knew Tamlin noticed because he sweetly ran his thumb over the back of her hand and Feyre couldn’t help but shiver.  


“Do you think I’m stupid, Feyre?” he asked innocently, “We dated for five years. I know you. Just as well as you know me.”  


“Funny,” Feyre snapped, deciding the act was up, “Because it doesn’t feel like I ever knew you at all.”  


“Spending time with the Nights has given you a flair for the dramatic,” he laughed and Feyre just wanted to punch that smirk off his face. But he was driving and he had her hand in a death grip she couldn’t have gotten out of even if she wanted to.  


“Fine,” Feyre said, “Since I’m apparently a liar and a cheater, why the engagement ring?”  


“I told you, Feyre,” Tamlin began, “I have given up too much to let you slip through my fingers. And you might not believe it, but you are the love of my life. And I forgive everything you’ve done. The lying, the sneaking around. Because as much as it hurt me, I know I hurt you too. And I am sorry, Feyre. We will work to earn each other’s trust again, and we will have our happily ever after.”  


Feyre very nearly laughed at that, but the possibility that Tamlin might have actually lost his mind this time was too frightening. She was mercifully outside of Lucien’s house, so whatever Tamlin did at least there would be witnesses. Scarier than being found out was the fact that Tamlin was being so goddamn calm about it. She could navigate his rages, or fight back against his violence. But his self-assurance and smugness was making the light dinner Feyre had forced down threaten to make a reappearance. This was dread she had never felt before and Tamlin hadn’t even fucking done anything yet.  


“I’ll admit, bringing Lucien into this was a betrayal I wasn’t expecting. From either of you,” Tamlin said. He finally let go of her hand only to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Feyre didn’t even try not to flinch, “But like your sisters, I have insurance for him too.”  


“What?” Feyre managed to choke out. At that, Tamlin let loose a wide smile, the kind he used to give during her exhibition openings at the gallery, or their old celebratory dinners when the Spring Court would sign a big contract. Now it just made Feyre nauseous.  


“I didn’t expect Lucien to tell you, he’s noble like that.” Tamlin said, “But he’s tied up in everything you’ve been gathering on the Spring Court. You might not care about the hundreds of people who will be out of work when you take the Spring Court down, but I know you won’t let Lucien take the fall.”  


“What?” Feyre repeated, dumbfounded.  


“He’s worked for me for 10 years, did you really think he’s never gotten his hands dirty?” Tamlin asked, “Have you always been this naïve.”  
And at Feyre’s prolonged silence, at the complete and utter defeat in her eyes, Tamlin pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. And Feyre didn’t pull away. 

* * *

The last person Lucien Vanserra expected on his doorstep in the middle of the night was Rhysand Night, but his life had been a big old pile of bizarre for the last several months.  


He and Rhys had never been the best of friends even before everything went with down with his brother and Mor, but after that Lucien had decided the Nights were the kind of people he should keep the people he loved far, far away from. Which was why it was so baffling that Lucien’s life seemed to be revolving around keeping Rhysand and his best friend together.  


Not that he wasn’t committed to exposing the Spring Court, but he’d be lying if he said keeping Feyre safe and happy wasn’t his first priority. It was convenient how that seemed to be Rhys’ agenda too. So over the past few weeks, the two had developed a weird sort of friendship of convenience that was turning into something real. Feyre had a problem with telling them the realities of dating Tamlin again, so Rhys and Lucien had taken to keeping each other in the loop. And with that, a fragile friendship has developed between the two of them. His inner circle didn’t particularly trust Lucien. Cassian refused to even speak to him, but Lucien could live with just Feyre. He wasn’t sure when Feyre had first offered it, but he Lucien was going to accept the position at Illyrian Night that she had promised him when they started this thing together, and he was making his peace with his life being very different than what he’d once thought it would be.  


But all those thoughts of that future went out of his head when he opened the door and saw the look on Rhys’ face.  


“Where’s Feyre?” Lucien asked immediately.  


“Did you know?” Rhys shot back, and there was something like anger in his eyes. Or it would have been anger if he didn’t look so defeated.  


“Know what?”  


“That she was engaged.”  


“She’s _what_?” Lucien demanded, because he most certainly did not know. He didn’t know that Tamlin was planning on proposing or that Feyre would ever say yes. It’s not like she didn’t have reason enough to say no. She had an arsenal of weapons that would have worked without blowing her cover. Lucien ran through the scenarios in his mind and couldn’t come up with any reasons for Feyre to accept Tamlin when they were so close to the end.  


“He must have something,” Lucien replied.  


“I don’t care what he has,” Rhys snapped, “She should’ve said _no_.”  


“Calm down Rhysand,” Lucien replied, which was the wrong thing to say. Lucien saw the rage fill his eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved that it was _something_. He had seen too many people defeated, even if his anger was directed at Lucien, he was happy it was something other than lifelessness.  


“Don’t tell me to calm down when all of this could have been avoided if _someone_ was a little more diligent.”  


That got Lucien’s blood boiling, “You can’t blame me any more than I already blame myself, Night.”  


“Good, you should.” Rhys spat. Lucien took a deep breath and just took a second to assess the situation. Feyre was engaged. Feyre was engaged and not home at nearly 2 in the morning. Feyre was engaged and not with Rhysand at two in the morning which meant she was either alone, or the more frightening possibility that she was still with Tamlin.  


“Enough,” Lucien said after a moment, “Blaming me won’t make Feyre unengaged. And it won’t help us find out where she is. Tell me exactly what happened.”  


So Rhys did, and Lucien was shaking with anger on his behalf. And all the more apprehensive that Rhys basically knew _nothing_. There was nothing they could do when Feyre wasn’t telling them _anything_.  


And as if on cue, the door opened and Feyre was inside.  


For a moment, they all just stared at each other. Lucien couldn’t exactly pinpoint the emotions on Feyre’s face. She didn’t seem upset, or angry, just resigned. And the ring. Feyre was wearing the same fucking ring Tamlin had proposed to her with the first time, as if he could just pretend like nothing had changed between them in the last 2 years. As if Tamlin hadn’t torn everything apart, not just between him and Feyre, but his relationship with Lucien too. He could feel the fight rising up within him, but no one to take it out on.  


“What’re you doing here?” Feyre asked Rhys, her voice was cold, almost as if she was talking to someone she barely knew.  


“Looking for you,” Rhys shot back, “What else would I be doing?”  


“Go home, Rhys,” she said coolly.  


“Feyre,” Lucien said, “What the fuck happened?”  


“What _happened_ ,” she spit, “Is that Tamlin’s had us by the balls this whole time and he was waiting for us to get so close we could taste it before he tightened his hold.”  


Lucien made a move towards her, but she was already out of his reach and heading into her room. She emerged a moment later with a bag, the bag she already had packed in case she ever had to make a quick escape.  


“Feyre-” Lucien repeated.  


“I’m moving back in with him,” Feyre said, “It’s over.” Then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Friends! Sorry for the hiatus once again. What can I say, some life things happened then I went on a much needed vacation. The good news is I have the rest of this story plotted out, hooray! I'm going to say this story will end around chapter 35, give or take a few. But we are very close to the end and I'd like to thank everyone who has read this story so far! Seriously, the past few months have been incredibly hard and knowing I had people to disappoint if I didn't finish this story has been something that's kept me going. Thank you everyone who leaves comments and kudos, especially those of you that leave comments on every chapter. You have no idea how much it means to me. End of diatribe, and as always let me know what you think!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW this chapter for references to self harm

In the moment, Rhys hadn’t had it in him run after Feyre. He hadn’t thought then that it was the last time he’d ever see her. Rhys had thought foolishly that Feyre would do the same thing she always did, that she’d come back to him after she’d had some time to think things through. That she’d realize they were stronger together and return to him, just like had always done to her. But this time…  


Rhys hadn’t seen or heard from her in more than two months.  


Neither had anyone else in the inner circle, and Lucien had stopped giving him the courtesy of at least letting him know everyone was alive. The turning point had been when her phone had stopped working. When she’d gotten a new number, that was when Rhys knew she was serious this time. That hadn’t stopped the others from holding out hope, but Rhys knew when he’d lost. And he’d lost her. Or, more accurately, she’d decided he wasn’t worth the effort anymore. Rhys hadn’t really felt like an active participant in the whole affair.  


Because despite everything, all the months and months of work, Feyre’s breaking point was the possibility of losing Lucien. Rhys wanted to blame her for that, or blame Lucien for being mixed up in everything, but Rhys didn’t have it in him to be angry.  


He was just tired. Maybe he’d come up with a plan later down the line, maybe even before it was too late. But right now, Rhys didn’t have it in him to do very much of anything. He couldn’t even successfully put his mask back on.  


The others didn’t seem to sense that though. They couldn’t accept that Rhys had stopped fighting, but they were running out of ways to be pissed off at him. While Amren and Azriel seemed to understand, Cassian and Mor still couldn’t believe him.  


“There are ways to find her, Rhys,” Mor had yelled after the millionth time Rhys had refused to do anything. This time, it had come when Rhys had been caught trying to plan her birthday party. Mor had looked at him with shock and betrayal that he would even think about doing anything without Feyre there, as if her world stopped and started with Feyre Archeron. Maybe Rhys was being mean, but he didn’t really care at this point. If no one had gotten tired of Rhys’ moods before, they weren’t going to start now.  


“I’m sure there are,” he acquiesced, “But I’m not going to find her when she doesn’t want to be found.”  


Mor had gotten a tender look in her eyes then, as if she could see the pain behind the words Rhys spit. Like she could almost sympathize with where Rhys was coming from, but he knew that she couldn’t. Mor loved Feyre, Rhys wouldn’t deny that. But she wasn’t in love with Feyre. Feyre hadn’t saved her life in a lot of ways, not like she had with Rhys. He had been missing something so quintessential to his being when he found her, and now that she was gone… Rhys couldn’t force her to come back, no matter how much it was killing him to live without her now that he knew what really being in love was like.  


How in the world could he explain that to someone who had never felt it before? Rhys knew that Mor’s happiness with Vivian hadn’t come easy, but it seemed laughably simple now. Mor’d had to deal with a lot of bullshit in the beginning, but she was blissfully in love now with someone who would never leave her just to protect her, Vivian would never have a reason to. But of course Rhys couldn’t say that. .  


“She’s done this before,” Mor continued, “You’ve brought her back before, just do it again.”  


“It’s exhausting, Mor,” Rhys said, “I can’t keep doing this. It’s over. Just accept it.”  


“You are so full of shit, Rhysand,” Mor spit after Rhys deflated. She could deal with his anger, Mor had done that plenty of times. But she couldn’t deal with him like this, so defeated. She thought maybe if she fired at him, he would fire back. But other than one snappy line, Rhys looked like he was ready to move on. If it had been anyone but Feyre, she might have supported that decision. Mor had seen Rhys moon over girls before, but he’d never chased after someone that had truly loved him back. Even Amarantha hadn’t been truly devoted to him, Mor knew that much even when she didn’t know the details of it. But Feyre wasn’t just Rhys’ girlfriend, she belonged to all of them now, and Rhys didn’t have the right to make the decision to cut her off.  


At the same time, Mor knew that Feyre would contact them only when she wanted to. Only when it was safe for everyone involved. It hurt that Mor didn’t have enough pull to bring Feyre back on her own, but it hurt more that the one person who could change Feyre’s mind wouldn’t.  


Deciding that if Mor was pissed off already, Rhys might as well bring up everything he knew would set her off, “We need to think about hiring a new artist.”  


“Are you fucking kidding me, Rhysand,” she snapped. Rhys tried not to flinch at the use of his full name, and he failed horribly.  


“Life goes on, Morrigan,” he shot back, happy to see that she took a step back at the use of her full name as well.  


“You don’t get to make that decision for all of us,” Mor said, voicing the thoughts that had been floating through her mind moments before, “She’s my best friend.”  


“You are more than welcome to look for her,” Rhys replied with maddening calmness, “But last time I checked, I was CEO of Illyrian Night, and losing an artist isn’t the end of the world. When someone quits, you replace them.”  


“You’re not just talking about Illyrian Night and you know it,” Mor said, not quite able to stop tears from stinging her eyes, “How can you expect her to keep fighting when you’re not fighting for her?”  


“I don’t expect anything from Feyre,” Rhys said. Her name burned the back of his throat, but the only way he was going to survive this was by pretending not to care, “She already saved our asses more than once. I refuse to let this company fall apart, not after everything that’s been sacrificed to keep it alive.”  


“You’re cruel, Rhys. Cruel and cowardly.” Mor spit before turning on her heel to storm out, but before she left she threw one last venomous look towards her cousin, “I just hope you come to your senses before it’s too late. And I hope she forgives you for this.”

* * *

Unknown to the two of them, Feyre and Rhys were having very much the same conversation at the same time. While Rhys was talking with Mor, Feyre was talking to Lucien. Or more accurately, Lucien was talking to her and Feyre wasn’t doing very much of anything at all. As of a few weeks ago, she had officially moved back in with Tamlin. She and Lucien had stretched out cleaning her things about of his apartment for as long as they could, but after more than a month of lingering, Tamlin had gotten suspicious of the delay and Feyre didn’t want to risk making him angry.  


She had quit her job for the same reason. The job Tamlin had given her at the Spring Court to placate her had been revoked now that there wasn’t really any need to keep her happy. Tamlin had revoked almost every privilege that she’d had when she thought she was the cat and he the mouse. Now, Feyre barely left the house. She had nowhere to go. No job to be on time for, no friends to see. Feyre could see herself spiraling back towards her condition just after the accident, but had nothing to stop herself.  


Lucien, it seemed, wasn’t going to let her fall so easily this time. A part of Feyre wished he would. Her life was so much simpler when she didn’t have the will to care. She could feel that sweet oblivion of apathy calling her, and Lucien Vanserra was her last tether to earth.  


“You need to eat something,” Lucien said after about an hour of silently occupying the same space. As if Tamlin could sense Lucien being the only thing keeping Feyre sane, he had allowed her to see him and only him. He’d even let her go to his house instead of being kept prisoner in the house. Lucien hadn’t dared challenge Tamlin on the conditions of these visits, but Feyre could see the rage boiling just under his skin. Feyre played with her leather bands. She’d been almost able to feel a blade across her skin for days now, and knew she’d relapse soon. Tamlin or Lucien must have been able to sense her grip on reality slipping, because she had barely been alone since she moved.  


“I’m not hungry,” she said. It was the same thing she always said when someone offered her food. She’d lost most the weight she’d regained with Rhys, it was almost as bad as when she’d hit rock bottom a year ago. She wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding anything, but she especially couldn’t hide that.  


“C’mon, Feyre,” Lucien pleaded as she hit Feyre’s foot with his own. He had on a playful expression, but Feyre could see the worry in his eyes, “I’ve had no one to cook for since you left. Let me have some fun.”  


“You don’t have to invite me over here if you’re not having fun,” Feyre deadpanned as she moved just far enough away from him that he couldn’t touch her.  


“Of course it isn’t fun,” Lucien replied, “All we do is watch TV and not talk and not eat. Or we talk and eat with Tamlin and pretend like it was 3 years ago when we were happy.”  


“Like I said, you are free to kick me out,” Feyre replied.  


“As if,” Lucien scoffed, “Talk to me, Feyre. Yell at me, or hit me. Just say something.”  


“I don’t feel like talking.”  


“No, of course not,” Lucien muttered, “Can I say something then?”  


“Be my guest,” Feyre said.  


“I knew from the very beginning that I’d go down with Tamlin,” Lucien began frankly. He waited a moment for Feyre to respond, but as always there was no reaction, “I knew the Spring Court was shady and I never did anything to stop it. I just did what Tamlin told me because for so long he was all I had. I knew I was mixed up in all this, and I’m not stopping.”  


“Of course you’re stopping,” Feyre said.  


“No, I’m not,” Lucien continued.  


“Don’t be a noble idiot.”  


“Pot, kettle, black,” Lucien said humorlessly, “You can do what you want, Feyre, but Amren and I are still working together. Amren, me, and no one else so far. But that can change if you decide you actually want to fight this.”  


Feyre regarded him for a long moment. She almost looked like she’d argue, like she throw something at him or finally agree that she was being stupid. But in a moment, it was gone and was replaced again by that infuriating indifference.  


“I’ll tell him what you’re planning,” Feyre said.  


“Do what you want,” Lucien replied, “It doesn’t matter what Tamlin does, Amren has enough on him to land his ass in jail for dozens of lifetimes.”  


“And yours,” Feyre countered.  


“And mine,” Lucien agreed. He scooched closer to her again and this time took her hands in his and forced her to look at him, “Feyre, please listen to me. I knew exactly what I was doing when I started this with you. I’m not innocent, and I deserve whatever I get. There’s a good chance I’ll get a plea deal when I testify against Tamlin.”  


“You don’t know that,” Feyre replied, not quite keeping the emotion out of her voice this time.  


“No,” he said, “But it doesn’t matter.”  


“I can’t lose you, Lucien,” Feyre said.  


“Don’t pretend that I’m your only friend, Feyre,” he laughed.  


Feyre shook her head, “I don’t know how Tamlin will do it, but he will win. He always wins and I’m tired of having that hope crushed again and again.”  


“He can’t touch you from prison, Feyre.”  


“He is rich and well respected, he’ll get out or he’ll gave someone do worse to me. Or someone I love. I can’t fight Tamlin anymore.”  


Lucien shut his eyes but kept his grip on Feyre’s hands. He knew she had a point, but Lucien would never admit that.  


“Stop using me as an excuse for your own fear,” he said.  


"I never said you were the only reason,” Feyre replied, “Don’t think I haven’t thought long and hard about this. No matter how I spin it, Tamlin will win.”  


“He doesn’t win as long as you keep fighting.”  


“You see the way he looks at me, Lucien,” Feyre continued, “He doesn’t care that I hate him. He doesn’t love me anymore. He just can’t stand the thought of not getting what he wants. As long as I stay quiet, I can have a life.”  


“You’re a liar, Feyre,” Lucien snapped as he snatched his hands away, “You think you’re so subtle, but I see the way you play with those bands. I know you’ve been thinking about hurting herself.”  


“And what of it?” she snapped.  


“You know you’re going to break if you stay here,” Lucien said, “It’s one thing keeping you from Rhys, but I’m not going to let you end your life.”  


“I’m going to call Tamlin,” Feyre said as she stood up, “I think it’s time he comes and gets me.”  


“Don’t do that, Feyre,” Lucien begged, “Don’t push me away and don’t pretend like your death wouldn’t destroy people.”  


Feyre stayed silent for just a moment too long before plastering a small smile on her face, “Why would I kill myself? I’m getting married in a few weeks.”  


_“Weeks?_ ” Lucien asked incredulously, “Since when had you set a date?”  


“Since Ianthe made the very good point that it’s going to be impossible to get anything booked for the summer so we should do it soon.”  


“That bitch,” Lucien spat, “When were you going to tell me this?”  


“We sent out the invitations yesterday. You were going to know in a few days.” Feyre shrugged. The real reason, of course, was that Feyre was under no illusion that Lucien had ever stopped gathering evidence on Tamlin. Which is why she had stolen everything she could from Amren’s after she’d confronted Rhys and Lucien but before they’d had a chance to tell the others about Feyre’s betrayal. Despite Lucien’s posturing, she knew Amren was now months away from having an iron tight case, and Amren would settle for nothing less. By the time the evidence was ready, Feyre would be long married. She didn’t care what Lucien said, she couldn’t lose him and she wasn’t risking anyone else’s safety just to save herself.  


But even though it was to save her friends that had quickly become her family, whatever life Feyre would have with Tamlin wasn’t worth living, and it was only a matter of time before she gave in to what that traitorous voice in her head was whispering night and day and she just ended this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All! I'm sorry for the delay, I have no excuse other than I just wasn't motivated to write. I am about to start my exams, so I'll try to get a chapter up next week but no promises. Let me know what you think!


	32. Chapter 32

“So what do we do about this?” Cassian asked. He spit the last word as he gestured to the off-white piece of parchment in front of him. Why they had all received Feyre’s wedding invitation was beyond him but they all had, and they’d all congregated at Amren’s house.  


Well, all of them except for one notable exception.  


Rhys’ absence from this little meeting was as palpable as his presence would have been. After the blowout he’d had with Mor (a blowout on her end, nothing but maddening calm on his) none of them had even bothered to call.  


“He’s planning something,” Cassian insisted, “He has to be.”  


“He said he can’t control her,” Mor replied.  


“ _This_ ,” he waved the invitation in her face, “Is a game changer.”  


“He said, and I quote ‘life goes on Mor.’” She said she smacked the offending piece of paper away.  


“He always has a plan.”  


“Not this time,” Mor replied. Cassian and Mor went back and forth for a few more minutes while Azriel and Amren waited patiently knowing there was no point trying to stop their bickering before it died out naturally. Once the room had settled again, Cassian posed the question again. What in the world were they going to do?  


“We’re going to the wedding,” Amren said without a beat as if it was the most obviously thing in the world.  


“There won’t be a wedding,” Mor insisted.  


“There won’t be a ceremony,” Amren corrected, “But Tamlin won’t know that until he absolutely has to.”  


“I think waiting until the day of is a little too close for comfort,” Cassian shot back.  


“When it is your hard drive gets stolen because you got too cocky, you can call the shots, boy,” Amren snapped, “Until then, Azriel and I already have a plan. You just have to play your part.”  


“What’s the plan?” Mor asked before Cassian could argue further. The absolute last thing they needed right now was infighting. It was bad enough with Rhys gone, they couldn’t afford anyone else going rogue.  


“We do to Tamlin exactly what he did to us. And exactly what Feyre did to me,” Amren began, “Feyre is smart. She knows me. She didn’t steal enough that I would notice it immediately. She only took enough that I wouldn’t be 100% sure we’d win. She didn’t think we’d move unless we knew we’d win. Normally I wouldn’t.”  


“But?” Cass asked hopefully.  


“Feyre has been consistently overestimating how much I trust anyone and underestimating how much I care about her,” Amren said with a sly smile.  


“Will you please just talk like a human?” Mor snapped while the boys were too busy gaping at Amren admitting to care about anyone.  


“Feyre got a lot of my digital evidence, but I had enough backed up physically to make a case. Not as strong a case as it could be, and definitely not a certain win. But enough that I’m going to gamble.”  


“Tamlin thinks he has the world wrapped around his finger,” Azriel continued, “He’s led Feyre to believe that too. But no one is invincible, and a man like Tamlin Spring has made a lot of enemies.”  


“Too many people thought Illyrian Night was guilty when word got out of Amarantha’s embezzlement, but I was doing damage control from the moment I suspected she was a liar,” Amren said.  


“We’d made some friends in the police department,” Azriel said, “Not many, a few powerful friends.”  


“You’re talking about Varian aren’t you?” Mor asked. Amren’s slight smirk an averted eyes was answer enough.  


“Okay, so we have the deputy chief of police,” Cassian said, “That’s not bad. But we’re not gambling with profits or signing artists, we are gambling with Feyre’s life. If you had to put a percentage on this. What would it be?”  


“65%.” Amren said immediately, as if she had given that very question a good amount of thought, “I am 65% sure this will work.”  


“Something tells me there’s a ‘but’ coming,” Mor deadpanned. Because Amren didn’t half ass anything, and there was no way she’d bet on 65% odds unless she had a very good reason for it.  


“I am 99% sure Feyre won’t go through with this wedding. With or without our case, I think she’ll run.”  


“And?” Cassian asked.  


“And do you think Tamlin will let her?” Amren continued, “One way or another, this is ending in two weeks. Either with Tamlin behind bars… or something worse happening. So yes, our odds aren’t great. But Feyre has been gambling with her own life for months now, and I think she’ll forgive me.”  


Cassian and Mor shared a glance, then threw their gazes to Amren and Azriel. All they saw there was certainty. Not that they’d win, the outcome of that was anyone’s guess. But it was clear they were certain that this was the last possible resort. The best plan out of dozens up shitty options. And they would never dream of betting against Amren. 

* * *

“Feyre?” Ianthe asked, pulling Feyre out of her own mind for the millionth time that morning. The wedding was in less than two weeks and Feyre had the faintest clue about the ceremony even though she was playing the starring role.  


Her days normally went like this: Tamlin had allowed Feyre to finish her current assignments but he wouldn’t let her take any new clients, so Feyre worked for most of the morning. She was taking as long as she possibly could without getting in trouble because she knew once she was done there would be no more work for her for a very long time. 

She’d be lucky if Tamlin would let her leave the house. But she couldn’t drag her feet forever, Feyre guessed she’d have weeks at best after the wedding to keep working. So from nine to noon she worked slowly, then she normally took her lunch breaks with Lucien who tried in vain to convince her to call off the wedding. The rest of her day until Tamlin came home at night was spent on wedding planning.  


Well, Ianthe planned and Feyre either listened or pretended to listen. Ianthe had taken the initiative in the decorating and all Feyre really had to do was give her a style preference every now and then. The colors were mint green and white because Tamlin insisted on nothing other than the colors of the Spring Court. Feyre hadn’t even gotten to pick out her own dress, and that one was a battle she had tried to fight.  


Because her dress was hideous, absolutely horrific. It was a nightmare in white tulle and it made Feyre feel like she was drowning in her own body. Feyre had been leaning towards something sleeker and a little bit sexy, but Ianthe had insisted she try on all different style so they could find “what suited her best” (despite the fact that Feyre had been dressing herself for 25 years now and knew what styles did and did not look good. The empire waste ball gown decided _did not_ look good on her). But Ianthe snapped a picture and sent it to Tamlin, and once he saw how it made Feyre look docile and pretty he would have nothing else. This was one of the times she fought him. Feyre was signing her life away, couldn’t she at least wear what she wanted? Apparently not. Because Feyre had already given him the mile with coming back to him, and the dress was merely an inch by comparison. Feyre was never going to win any arguments ever again.  


“Will you please at least pretend to pay attention?” Ianthe asked sweetly with an undercurrent of annoyance in her voice. Feyre bit back a snappy comment and tried to figure out what mundane detail Ianthe had actually needed her input on.  


“Can you please repeat the question?” Feyre asked.  


“The cake,” Ianthe reminded her as she gestured to one of the dozens of open magazines on the table. Feyre tried to find a cake among the others littered around dictating this season’s colors or bridesmaids dress trends (Ianthe and Alis were her only bridesmaids and she told them they could wear whatever they wanted). Sure enough, the magazine barely central on the table was a baking magazine open to a listicle of the best wedding cake bakeries in the area. Food. This was something Feyre might be able to make herself care about.  


“Chocolate,” Feyre said automatically, “Something chocolate.”  


Ianthe gave a carefully hidden frown that let Feyre know this too was about to become an argument. Feyre readied her battle stations. This was something she was sure Tamlin wouldn’t care about and Feyre could sometimes win against just Ianthe since it was, yknow, Feyre’s wedding.  


“Chocolate…” Ianthe mused in a way that made Feyre roll her eyes, “Are you sure?”  


“Yes,” Feyre said sweetly, “Is there a problem with that?”  


“It’s just I was talking to Tamlin…” Ianthe began. _Oh Christ here we go_ Feyre prepared herself.  


“And what does Tamlin think?”  


“It’s just, this is a spring wedding,” Ianthe continued, “Don’t you think a chocolate cake will be a little heavy for our theme?”  


“Well only the inside will be chocolate,” Feyre said, “The outside can we white fondant and flowers to your heart’s content.”  


“Feyre,” Ianthe said, “It’s not about how it looks, it’s about how it _feels_. We can’t have a cake that makes everyone feel heavy then expect them to dance for three hours.”  


Feyre let loose a heavy sigh. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe not even this was a fight she would win, “What do you suggest?”  


“Well, Tamlin and I were thinking vanilla cake with a lemon frosting,” Ianthe said. Feyre wrinkled her nose. She hated lemon. Absolutely hated all citrus and Tamlin knew this.  


“Tamlin thought this was a good idea?” Feyre asked carefully, trying to gauge if this was a legitimate jab or if Tamlin just didn’t know basic facts about her at this point.  


“Of all the options I presented that was his favorite,” Ianthe confirmed.  


“Speak of the devil,” Feyre muttered under her breath as she heard the front door open. It was barely 3 o’clock on a Tuesday. Tamlin had been working from home more and more as the wedding date approached, as if he needed to make sure she didn’t run. As if Ianthe didn’t also watch her like a hawk.  


“Are you having the cake debate?” Tamlin asked as he gestured to the open magazine. He gave Feyre a peck on the cheek that she tried hard not to lean away from before he hung his coat up.  


“It’s not a debate,” Ianthe said, “Feyre and I were just having a discussion.”  


“You thought lemon cake would be a good idea, Tam?” Feyre asked with as much saccharine sweetness and she could muster.  


“I thought it sounded good,” he shrugged.  


“You can’t think of any issues with that? None at all?” she prodded. Then when he remained silent, “Like maybe… I don’t know, that your bride hates lemons?”  


“Shit, I totally forgot,” Tamlin said. And he was either very good at feigning embarrassment or he legitimately didn’t remember. Feyre wished it had been a calculated move. 

She hated how… human he was starting to seem the more time she spent with him. She hated how despite everything he had done, Feyre could sometimes still see the man she’d fallen in love with, “Why don’t we do a tasting? That way we can all get what we want.”  


Feyre didn’t have time to make a snippy comment about how she was rarely included in that we before Ianthe spoke again, “We have to put the order in today if we have any hope of getting it in time. There will be no openings for a tasting on this short of notice.”  


“Ianthe, please,” Tamlin said, “Just make some calls.”  


“I’m telling you, Tamlin, it will cost a fortune.”  


“You know I don’t care about that,” he said, “Just work something out for this afternoon.”  


Ianthe looked like she was about to argue further, but she thought better of it and threw a final glare at Feyre before leaving the room. Considering she was basically being babysat, Feyre had done a remarkable job so far of not being alone with Tamlin any more than necessary. Aside from Lucien’s annoying efforts to get her to leave him, he was almost always over or she was over at his place. He was an excellent buffer for Tamlin, and Lucien was the one thing Tamlin knew he couldn’t take away. But there was no buffer now and Feyre was sure Ianthe would be on the phone for a long while trying to get an appointment. Feyre’s walls went up as he sat down next to her.  


“I’ve been thinking,” Tamlin said carefully.  


“Uh huh?” Feyre replied. There was a long pause, almost as if Tamlin was actually thinking about his words before he spoke.  


“I want you to keep working at the Spring Court,” he said finally. Another long pause while Feyre processed his words.  


“What?” she asked breathlessly.  


Tamlin turned fully towards her then, “Despite what you think, Feyre, I don’t want to keep you as my prisoner.”  


“Funny,” Feyre deadpanned, “I just assumed that was the goal when you locked me in your closet.”  


“That was a long time ago.”  


“Why the change of heart?” she asked. She kept her tone guarded, made sure to keep the hope out of her voice. Feyre couldn’t let him know how desperately she wanted to keep her job. He couldn’t know that this was something he could dangle in front of her anytime she stepped out of line.  


“I told you was sorry. I told you I was going to do better and I meant it,” he shrugged.  


“Bullshit,” Feyre pushed. Maybe she shouldn’t, but there was something hidden in his face that signaled an ulterior motive. If Feyre was going to accept this job (and she would, even if the offer wasn’t genuine) she had to know why he was doing it. By being mixed up in the Spring Court again, Feyre was going to become complicit in all their shady dealings. And if she was going to do something like that, she had to make sure it was worth it.  


“You don’t give up do you?” Tamlin groaned, “I was trying to play nice, but fine. Your friends at Illyrian Night have been causing problems for me. It seems ever since your scene at the benefit a few months ago, there have been some nasty rumors about the way I treat you.”  


Feyre’s heart started to hammer at the mention of Illyrian Night, “I haven’t talked to them in months,” Feyre replied. She didn’t have to say that whatever they were saying didn’t count as rumors when they were true, Tamlin seemed to know that well enough already.  


“I know,” Tamlin said, “But that hasn’t stopped them from opening their big mouths.”  


“I can’t control them, you know that.”  


“It seems you made plenty of friends there, not just the inner circle. You made a name for yourself, Feyre, and people are concerned for you. Not just at Illyrian Night.”  


Feyre couldn’t help but break out into a smug smile, “You can’t fire me, can you?” Feyre asked, “All your clients want me.”  


“Yes. They do,” Tamlin admitted, “And it is a small concession to make.”  


“And if I refuse, what? Your clients walk?”  


“You won’t refuse,” Tamlin said, and there was just enough of a threat in it that Feyre suppressed her smile. Finally. She had leverage. A very small amount, but leverage nonetheless.  


“I won’t,” Feyre said, “I just want to know what I’m walking into.”  


“We can talk about that after our honeymoon,” Tamlin said, “You won’t be taking on any new clients until _after_ we are married.”  


Feyre nodded her agreement. She couldn’t refuse and she didn’t want to. She was about to enter hell but at least she’d have an escape at least during the work week.  


“Feyre,” Tamlin said after a moment, “That’s not the only reason I’m offering you the job.”  


“Whatever you say,” Feyre almost laughed.  


“Look at me,” he said softly but fiercely, Feyre did and she saw something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time. Truth. And love, “I mean it, Feyre. I fucked up. A lot. 

And I have every intention of winning you back.”  


“I’m marrying you, is that not enough?”  


Tamlin sighed and turned to his briefcase. Feyre looked at him quizzically as he pulled what appeared to be a velvet jewelry box out of his bag. He opened it without saying anything and Feyre just gazed at the intricately jeweled bracelets that were gleaming in the light of the room.  


“I want your heart, Feyre” he said as he carefully slid her sleeved up and made a move to remove her leather bands. Tamlin had forced her into bangles before. He always hated her leather bands. But he’d never, ever touched her scars. He never even looked at them if he could help it. He touched her wrists slowly, like he was giving her a chance to snatch her hands away, but Feyre was too dumbfounded to move. He unsnapped one band then the other and just held her wrists gently as he ran his thumbs over her scars.  


“I’m sorry, Feyre,” he said genuinely, or at least Feyre thought it was genuine. He was such a good liar, it was hard to tell sometimes, “I’m sorry for so much. But I’m mostly sorry that I wasn’t good to you when you needed me.”  


Feyre couldn’t voice any of the millions of thoughts running through her head. Not when he was touching her so tenderly. It had been years since he’d been so careful with her and it was almost enough to make Feyre cry.  


“What are you doing, Tamlin?” Feyre asked. It took effort to keep her voice from breaking. Feyre was proud her emotions didn’t seem to be written all over her face.  


“I failed you,” Tamlin continued as he carefully but the extravagant bracelets on. He gave each of her wrists a kiss in turn, “And I promise, Feyre, I will not let you go ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that group scene was as fun to read as it was to write. Now that I'm done with exams, I should be able to go back to posting weekly. So buckle up, friends, we're almost done! Let me know what you think!


End file.
